


black t-shirts and converse

by Chubby Skater (levi_robbed_my_tea_cupboard)



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: M/M, Pop Star Victor Nikiforov, Short Chapters, does that make sense, more characters will be added, or the red string that connects people, probably not, rock metal grunge katsuki yuuri, victor is closet metal fan, wireless headphones as a source of problems, yuuri is victor's closet fanboy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-12
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:35:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 23
Words: 20,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23118562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/levi_robbed_my_tea_cupboard/pseuds/Chubby%20Skater
Summary: Yuuri was living peaceful life of the last true metal in the city until one day his secret pop idol Victor Nikiforov entered the same train and stole his earphone.I, the goddess of waffling, am going to try and write the shortest, briefest chapters I possibly can.
Relationships: Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov
Comments: 98
Kudos: 196





	1. Train

**Author's Note:**

> ~~Sorry it's anonymous but I should update another fic for the fandom rn and I'm ashamed.~~ This crossed my mind in a train when I was listening to Hannah Montana for the first time in approximately 9 years and I had two thoughts: it's actually not as bad as I used to think AND what if someone stole one of my earphones!?

The biggest crowd got off the train on a transfer station and Yuuri was left alone with a tired-looking woman and a group of teenagers, probably giggling in their corner, though Yuuri, cut off from the sounds by a wall of music, couldn’t hear it from the distance.

He was exhausted after the day of two jobs that was ending only to wake up the next day and go to the third one. Technically, Yuuri didn’t need three jobs, but the weekends in the music store were his favourite, but also least paying source of income. He could always sleep on Mondays, anyway.

Trapped between hours spent surrounded by classical music and the upcoming battlefield of indoctrination attempts and trials of convincing clients to try something else then the latest radio playlist, Yuuri was soothing his nerves with the guiltiest pleasure of listening to everything Victor Nikiforov had ever recorded on shuffle.

His fascination started innocently, justified by the rhythm just fine for running and working out, then extended to occasional playing his songs in metro, until one day Yuuri googled the vocalist and sobered up only a few hours later, watching hundredth interview with Victor and digging into his oldest records.

And that was… Bad. Yuuri could never tell anybody. Well, eventually he told Phichit, but other than that he was Victor’s biggest closet fan boy in the history of fan boys. And he was going to stay that. Not that anyone was suspicious of something, after all Yuuri didn’t own a single piece of merch and was safely hidden under his dark uniform of rock band logo t-shirts and only ever black converse. He was safe.

Three stations from his own the teenagers left and someone came in. The train set off and the newcomer sat in front of Yuuri, stretching long legs. Yuuri didn’t move, labelling someone who wore bright pink sneakers as potentially harmless, and rose his head.

Victor Nikiforov was sitting in front of him, recognizable even though the bright shoes were all he had on from his usual stage rainbow glory. Yuuri breathed in deeply, forcing himself not to look away too quickly and felt hotness on his face. It was two stops and he would leave.

It was fine, he only had to pretend he didn’t know who Victor was and his pink sneakers didn’t catch his attention. Oh, and do that while listening to a silly song in Russian that Victor had recorded before voice mutation had hit him. It was fine. It really was! But why on earth Victor Nikiforov was staring at him? Yuuri nervously took out his earphones and pretended he was cleaning them, to make sure the music wasn’t escaping, but no. He would die out of embarrassment if it did.

Meanwhile Victor’s eyes wandered after his hand with the earphone. He opened his mouth, but when Yuuri didn’t look at him he said nothing. Yuuri considered leaving on the next stop, the imaginary pressure was killing him.

They were approaching his station and Yuuri stood up, collecting his two bags from the seat and moving towards the door. There was Victor’s old, slow song playing, when the train suddenly stopped and Yuuri fell, his earphones falling out of his ears.

“Are you OK?” Victor asked. If Yuuri needed any extra confirmation it was his secret idol, the three words said out loud were more than enough.

Yuuri murmured something, searching for his earphone under a seat.

“I’ll help.” Victor offered and stood up when the train started moving. “I think I’ve seen where it fall.”

“F-fine.”

Victor smiled and passed him, leaning down and palpating under another seat. The earphone was nowhere there and they were nearly at Yuuri’s station. The train started to slow down when Victor stood up.

“I got it!” He exclaimed and, to Yuuri’s horror, put the earphone into his ear.

VICTOR NIKIFOROV PUT YUURI’S EARPHONE PLAYING HIS LONG FORGOTTEN SONG INTO HIS EAR.

Said Victor Nikiforov seemed to be just as surprised as Yuuri was terrified, and embarrassed, and aghast, and all the worst things, because he said nothing. Instead his eyes widened and his mouth formed a perfect “o”.

The following three seconds before the door opened were the longest in Yuuri’s life, but once they did he wasted no time. Strengthening the grip on his bags, he run of out the train immediately, leaving in the train very confused Victor Nikiforov, the biggest junk pop star the music industry ever produced.

Oh, and by the way, losing one of his earphones in the process.


	2. Lip gloss

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> O.M.G! Thank you for every single kudos and comment on the train situation <3

„In short…” A blond man said before applying shiny redness onto his lips. “…you met an adorable boy wearing a T-shirt with a logo of the band that you would moan about since we were teenagers, forgot how to speak, and then somehow you got his earphone to find out he was listening to one of your least selling albums. Then you let him run away without a word to never meet him again and cry in front of the altar devoted to said earphone.”

“Chriiiiiiiiis.” Victor moaned, leaning closer to his friend.

Chris applied more sparkling lip gloss sending kisses and winks to his reflexion to examine different angles.

“Hmm?” Chris purred.

“It’s not an altar! I put it there to remember where it is. You know I’m always losing everything.” Victor stared at his friend, expecting a confirmation, but the other man only rolled his eyes.

“Sure, cheri.” Chris took a mascara and focused on wiping the excess product from the brush. “You met a boy, don’t know his name and there’s no way to find him other than spend 6 hours sitting on a metro station like a creep.”

Victor wasn’t sure what was the mascara for, Chris’ thick eyelashes were done a while ago, but he pretended that he was adding the final touch, rather out of spite than actual need.

“And he didn’t show up!”

“Merde!” Chris turned to him. “Are you pretending, Vitya, or are you really that stupid?”

Victor looked at him. Chris was a little bit irritated at the moment, because Victor had forced him to go to the memorable metro station with him and sit there six hours together, not really saying why they were there. Not until Chris said he was having a record in two hours and had to go, and Victor, hungry and disappointed, went with him.

“It’s the first time you got a fanboy crush, I get it, but…”

“Don’t say it like that. I’m serious. My feelings…”

“…turned your brain into a jelly?” Chris put on his glasses and crossed his hands, which made him look, unlike Victor’s feelings, not serious at all. The glasses and posture were making a slight dissonance with red and black lingerie, leather briefs and spike heels on his feet. “You want to find the boy.” He said.

“Yes!”

“Isn’t the solution ab-so-lu-te-ly ob-vio-us?” Chris said slowly, as if he was talking to a very dumb toddler.

“No? That is unless I just buy a tent and…”

Chris snapped fingers right in front of his face.

“Hello. Earth to Vitya. What tent? What showing up? You’re Victor Nikiforov. Your Instagram alone has millions of followers, not to mention other social media, and you’re looking for your alleged fan. Did something finally glinted under that grey shag?”

“Don’t be ridiculous!” Victor snorted.

“What’s the point of having gigantic fan base it you can’t make use of it?”

“And post what? How do I write that I’m looking for a cute grunge boy who run away from me on a metro station yesterday night and I picked up his earphone and not sound like a crazy person?”

“Oh yeah, because you’ve got the reputation of a completely normal person.”

Victor leaned back and moaned.

“Yakov’s gonna kill me if I post I’m here before Wednesday. The contracts…”

Chris got up and looked at him from above with consternation. Then sighed, resigned, and reached his hand towards Victor.

“Give me your phone.” He said.

Victor hesitantly put his phone on Chris’ hand and fell back onto sofa, feeling very unhappy and misunderstood.

“And show me the damn thing.”

“Eh?”

“The damn earphone.”

“I left it on…?”

“And we met first yesterday.” Chris sent him an unimpressed look and Victor gave up, unzipping his pocket.

“Here.” He said, showing it to Chris while still lying on the sofa.

“Oh, that’s good. Just keep it like that and… Perfect.” Chris said after a while and dropped the phone on Victor’s stomach. “Now, if you excuse me, I have a record.” Chris’ heels sounded on the obscure hall when he left the room.

Victor unwillingly took the phone. There was a new post on his Instagram, with a photo focused on the earphone between his two fingers and Victor on the sofa blurred in the background.

_Looking for the owner ;* #vnikiforov #victornikiforov #earphone #lost #lookingforthesecondhalf #thingsfoundintrains #helpmefind #share #pleaseshare #it’sreallyimportant #iwon’twriteitoutsidehashtags #butikindaliketheowner #Imeanlikelike #waitingforyourmessage #blacktshirtsandconverseboy_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no idea what I'm doing


	3. Coffee

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I write "short chapters"? D: *aggressively cuts chapter in half*

Buzz, buzz, buzz…

Yuuri’s alarm was ringing inexorably from the highest shelf in his bedroom – the only guarantee he wouldn’t unconsciously hit snooze after snooze. He stretched and got up to turn it off and grabbed his glasses in the way. Looking outside to check the weather he realised he had the weirdest dream – he met Victor Nikiforov in the metro and his idol stole of his earphone that was playing Victor’s old song at the moment. Yuuri remembered it so clearly that if it wasn’t for the complete absurdness of the situation he’d swear it really happened. He could recall the surprised look on the singer’s face, that for some reason Yuuri couldn’t connect with any particular interview, and the sudden hit of adrenaline when the train door opened. Gods, his brain was more creative than Yuuri had ever suspected.

He left his room and greeted Phichit, who was in the middle of his forth this week attempt to shakshouka. Judging from the nervous mixing on the pan and smell of something burnt on the stove lid – unsuccessful like all three previous ones. Yuuri’s stomach twitched at the thought of eating the pulp but he didn’t comment. A few minutes later, when he sat by the table clean and dressed to go, Phichit put in front of him a plate of something that was still far away from perfect, but for the first time he managed to keep the yolks whole. Yay Phichit.

After the horrifying breakfast Yuuri felt fully justified when he let Phichit go ahead to open the store while he stood in a line to get a cup of self-indulgence. Phichit was living on soda and energy drinks but Yuuri stuck to tea and coffee, and more often than not he was hanging around with a cup, collecting judging looks. But for Yuuri a cup of coffee in his hand was like a safety blanket. Everything seemed better when he felt the warmth under his fingers and taking a long sip was perfect to avoid unwanted conversations.

Yuuri took his time to decide what to get but the line in front of him still was long, so he took out his phone and slid a hand into pocked. He opened the earphones box and froze. There was only one inside.

“Hey, it’s moving.” Someone said and Yuuri made a step forward, suddenly feeling out of place.

What the fuck? A flashback from his dream run through his head and Yuuri swallowed. In his dream, Victor Nikiforov took his right earphone. The missing one. What the _fuck_? Was it real than? But no, Victor Nikiforov lived on another _continent_ , damn it.

“What can I get you?” Yuuri heard, clearly said to him. How did he suddenly appear in front of the line?

“Just filter.” He said quickly, forgetting what he actually wanted. “With milk.”

“Sure.”

Yuuri pressed his card to the terminal while still staring at the half-empty box, and collected his drink only after third call.

“What took you so long?” Phichit asked, unpacking a carton of bright guitar picks.

“There was a line.” Yuuri shrugged. For some reason he didn’t feel like telling Phichit about his dream and the missing earphone. It felt weirdly… personal. And would make him look like a maniac, if not anything else.

Phichit shrugged back.

“Ok than. Add those to the counter display.” He pushed the box towards Yuuri. “And when you’re done come to the back, yesterday evening there was a group of girls who tried on half of the store and bought nothing.” Phichit rolled his eyes. “I bet we won’t be done with the clothes till the noon.”

Yuuri nodded and took another sip. As much as he liked being there, folding clothes was a burden.

Rearranging the display took him maybe ten minutes, in which no one came to the store, cause who’d be up this early in weekend anyway, so Yuuri went to help Phichit. There was a pile of dresses and T-shirts on the sofa in front of the changing room and a dozen pairs of boots lied about the floor. No wonder Phichit just left it yesterday.

They were almost done with cleaning when silence sounded in the store and Yuuri grabbed his cup and went to change the vinyl. He was walking through the narrow, dark corridor connecting the two parts of the store, and looking back at Phichit grumbling about fake clients, when a silhouette appeared in front of him.

It was too late to stop so he collided with the other person, the momentum making most of his coffee spill on the other’s shirt, leaving Yuuri’s nearly dry. He started apologising, leading the newcomer to the front of the store, but in respond he heard a stream of Russian curses and denials in Yuuri’s mental health. The other person clearly didn’t realise Yuuri spoke Russian.

And Yuuri was ready to ignore it, apologise and maybe give them something dry to wear, on the house, when the newcomer finally turned to the light and Yuuri saw bright green eyes and furious face, that in addition to the angry Russian clearly belonged to Yuri Plisetsky, new rising star of Russian show business and Victor Nikiforov’s protégé.

If Yuuri had any doubts before, now he was sure – the universe was plotting something, and he’d bet his last earphone that he was a victim of that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #denial #selfpreservation #learningyouridol'snativelanguage  
> The fact Yuuri doesn't speak at least elementary Russian is the most fake thing in the series ok?


	4. T-shirt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> O____o  
> o____O  
> O____O  
> I regret nothing

“Yuuri?” Phichit abandoned his folding post and join them, lured by the smell of fresh drama.

“Hsss-sssss.” Yuri Plisetsky jerked his head towards Phichit at the same time Yuuri said “Yes?”

Phichit looked between them, and there was no hint of recognition when his eyes slipped through Plisetsky, whom Phichit clearly didn’t know. And let’s keep it that way.

“We told you so many times it would eventually happen.” Phcihit said but looked pleased. “Wait a minute, kid, I’ll bring you something to change into.” He disappeared back in the corridor.

“I’m really sorry.” Yuuri apologised again and offered Yuri a tissue. “How can I help you, by the way?”

Plisetsky looked at him, considering something, and Yuuri knew exactly what it was. They were in a music store that, apart from selling cheap or not so cheap merch and brightly coloured but useless guitar picks had reputation. Even if next to tones of second hand records they offered trashy pins and mass produced T-shirts, they didn’t have just any band, religiously sticking to classics and rock music. There was not a single thing featuring Victor Nikiforov in the store, and if anyone asked Yuuri, he’d probably lied that he hardly knew him.

The thing with Plisetsky was that, being contracted to the same company as Victor and clearly aiming in seemingly big audience, he was singing pop so… There wasn’t space for that in the store. And at the same time Yuuri knew, he could hear it in his records, see in his way of dressing, that Plisetsky didn’t like that. There were other influences in his music, stifled by catchy tones that soled better. That was how the industry worked.

They had CDs from the same company Plisetsky and Nikiforov recorded in, the whole discography of Georgi Popovich who, in Yuuri’s opinion, was ha… aaa… hmm… hard to forget for an average listener. To any listener, actually.

That being said, if Georgi Popovich entered the store Phichit would recognise him immediately, while Yuri… It wasn’t that Phichit _purposefully_ didn’t know much pop – there was just so much showing up in the store’s actual circle of interest Phichit didn’t have time to acknowledge more. He was justified then, unlike Yuuri, who decided to just pretend he’d never seen Plisetsky’s face before.

“I was just looking around.” The Russian said, trying to hide his red face behind hair.

“Sure. Just call me if you need help.”

Yuri opened his mouth when Phichit, smiling widely, came back.

“I found it!” He exclaimed. “I left a T-shirt for you in the changing room on the back. I think S should be fine.”

“Thanks.” Plisetsky murmured and passed Phichit.

“What did you gave him?” Yuuri asked.

“Something from the drawer of things that never sell.” He shrugged.

Yuuri was midway through another that morning mindfuck, this time wondering why and how Yuri Plisetsky, who Yuuri was absolutely certain lived at least a couple time zones away, materialised in the store, when the boy came back with a clean T-shirt and face even more pissed then before. If Yuuri wanted to be even meaner bitch to him than he’d already been, he couldn’t have planned it better. Because Yuri was wearing an old T-shirt promoting Georgi Popovich’s album. They hadn’t sell because who normal would be willing to wear Popovich’s zoomed face in make up making him look like a Kappa during particularly bothersome existential crisis? No one, and definitely not aspiring sixteen year old singers.

Even not knowing the whole context of what he’d done, Phichit started cackling.

“I’ve completely forgotten we had them.” Yuuri said.

“Right? Before you started working here at some point we were giving them as extras with the CDs. The thing is, we sold out all CDs but people didn’t want to take the T-shirts.”

Yuuri observed the Russian’s face changing at the information about CDs. He looked as if his worst suspicions were just confirmed.

“Sorry kid.” Phichit grinned to him. “I couldn’t really give you anything from the regular stock, but if you want to buy a new T-shirt I’ll give you a huuuge discount.” Phichit winked.

Plisetsky snorted, passed them and slammed the door behind himself.

“What did I say? Was that the face on…”

“Teenagers.” Yuuri rolled his eyes, deep inside feeling sorry for Plisetsky.

The rest of the day passed relatively peacefully, spent on chattering with a few regular customers who came to collect their orders and leaving tourists to Phichit. A mid-aged couple with the best terrier Yuuri had ever met, coming every second week to see what’s new, brought him tea, as always, for which Yuuri was particularly grateful after his morning loss.

His working day was coming to an end and Yuuri was leaning by the counter and sipping tea when he got a notification. Nikiforov posted on Instagram. Suspecting nothing, Yuuri took another big sip, opened the app and spitted onto the entire counter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Yurio just wanted to peacefully rummage through CDs [*] D:


	5. Pathetic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Angry kitten

Yura smashed the door behind his back, wishing for the windows to shatter. Which they didn’t, but if it was up to Yura there wouldn’t be a single glass spared in the hovel of a music store. Five stars on Trip Advisor? Pathetic. The stuff was displayed on old, scratched furniture, it was quiet inside, except for the staff empty, and blinding with shitload of colourful tackle as if it weren’t a widely recommended rock store but a display before one of Victor’s shows. And Yura would gag if he was forced to look at those again.

His wounded pride had nothing to do with his impression, nothing at all, because it wasn’t wounded in the first place, dammit! In the hundreds of the store recs people wrote that it was the best place to just come and chat about what good music was, by the definition that perfectly corresponded with Yura’s views on that matter, and the owner, along with all the employees, were supposed to be the best informed people about both the classics and the latest novelties.

So Yura hoped, damn, he waited for it, that someone would recognise him, someone would talk to him like equals, without making a lecture about selling rates and marketing. Three years passed since he’d debuted, damn it. But no, he was doomed to stay in the shade, and shine, both intertwining and driving him nuts, of Victor, ugh, Nikiforov only because they were both from Russia and had the same manager. He wanted to howl whenever he was thinking about it.

Yura, in a way, admired Victor. Or rather the brand he created around himself, because he scorned most of his music, and had lost all the delusions concerning Victor as a person in as little as a few weeks of working in the same company.

Victor was a mess. He’d record literally anything and collabe with anyone if that was going to secure his place on top of the lists. And then he’d isolate himself for days, mumbling about the true artistry, and bring to the studio something completely unfitted the initial concept, but it didn’t have to fit – they already had sells from the singles that, unlike Victor’s original songs, were produced carefully by a team of well-educated people, and Yura couldn’t quite get why it took weeks and a dozen of people, _plus_ the musicians themselves, to produce 3 minutes of a catchy but trashy, so trashy, damn it!, song.

That’s why Yura was trying his best to smuggle into his music the hints that he was nothing like Victor, and wasn’t going to sell his soul for the crowd, hell no. Not to anyone, that was. So he might be slightly disappointed that they didn’t know him in the store, he had all the reasons to be, but he wasn’t. Hell no nope!

He was just pissed, ok? Especially that Victor, with whom he was forced to stay during the trip, ignored him, and instead of the promised lesson he’d left before Yura had even woken up. So let’s fuck the jerk and explore on his own instead, damn, he wasn’t a child and Victor wouldn’t tell Yakov anyway, cause that would doom both of them.

He might have just stayed in the house, Yura was thinking two hours later, when he had to go through the entire city with Georgi’s snout on his chest and nothing to cover is. Because a damn Asian nerd spilled cold sticky coffee onto him, as if the fact he was as good as no one to them wasn’t enough humiliating. Oh, well, no that it was a humiliation. It was just that the store hired incompetent idiots!

Yura quickly flitted through the city and get out on the suburban area where Yakov rented a house for them. The buildings there were scattered far away from each other with a grove behind and a golf course on the other side of the street. It was the last station of the line and no one was here, so Yura was kicking every stone he noticed in his way back, trying to release his anger. And it still wasn’t enough to vent all the bad energy within him.

Inside the house he felt lonely, as Victor still wasn’t back and Yura had to leave Potya at home. Why the hell they had to come here so much earlier? There was nothing to do!

He was apathetically playing a phone game when he got a notification about Victor’s new Instagram post. Like always, the old gag was trying to draw as much attention as he possibly could. Did he really need to make up pathetic stories about looking for someone? Tsk!

Boiling with the annoyance that didn’t want to leave him for a few hours now, he changed into workout clothes and went jogging, hoping to produce at least some endorphins. He closed the door, put his earphones in and hesitated on the music app. Victor’s music was garbage, that was the reality. But some of his songs had the perfect beat for Yura’s pace, so he was fully justified, damn it! No one had to now…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just breath Yura, just breath!


	6. Chipmunks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> not so calm before the storm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey eyeyeyey, it's been a while but I'm back with this... this
> 
> and what I should actually update still isn't updated so at this rate idk if I ever unanon it as i initially planned, gomen gomen ^^"

The sight of Victor Nikiforov holding Yuuri’s earphone to the camera like some kind of a trophy was devastating. Even when his body was blurred, after countless hours of staring at Victor’s photos Yuuri could reconstruct the men in his head with pretty much all details. Which alone caused another wave of panic that held onto him until they eventually came back home and Yuuri could hide under a blanket from where not even Phichit would be able to lure him out.

Only it wasn’t very helpful, not in Yuuri’s bedroom where twenty nine pairs of blue eyes were observing him from the walls. Never before had it made Yuuri uncomfortable, but eventually he felt asleep, wishing it was all just a bad dream, because the idea that someone had hacked into Nikiforv’s Instagram account _and_ Yuuri’s brain wasn’t very convincing. Unless he was an object of aliens’ experiments, or some kind of superhero group was playing a demo version of their powers, or maybe a sim that was bred to be destroyed within minutes. None of the options alluring.

It was the second morning when Yuuri woke up tired and couldn’t stay in bed any longer, not with the posters on his walls, so he moved to the kitchen and turned on TV on a breakfast show, just to kill time. It was Monday and he had nowhere to go. And he would NOT risk going to the station, absolutely not.

Yuuri was stuffing his face with dry cereal desperately trying not to think when Phichit materialised on the sofa next to him.

“What’s up?” Phichit asked, helping himself a handful of Yuuri’s cereal.

“What do you mean?”

Phichit put half of the handful into his mouth and chewed slowly, which made him look like a huge hamster.

“You were on autopilot the entire weekend.” He said and shrugged. “Aren’t you overworking yourself?”

That, Yuuri though, was an excellent excuse. Both for Phichit and for himself.

“Yeah, you’re probably right. Maybe I’ll take a break at Celestino’s.”

They munched in a relative silence, till the commercial block ended and Phichit got up.

“I’ll make some breakfast.”

Yuuri’s stomach protested.

“I’ll stick to some rice today.” He said before Phichit had time to announce another nonsense of a breakfast recipe.

“And cereal?” He rose an eyebrow.

Yuuri only shrugged.

“There’re vitamins in it. It’s good for you.” Yuuri murmured, slowly getting used to the idea that maybe he indeed has been overworking and just needed some rest. Jep. Just it. A little bit of time for himself.

Phichit disappeared behind the kitchen corner and the TV host announced a surprise guest after a reportage about Siberian chipmunks for which Yuuri had to call Phichit back. They were munching along with the chipmunks on the screen when the studio was back on and there, on the second sofa was sitting…

“Holly shit, it’s your wallpaper man!” Phichit clapped his hands.

Yuuri froze because it, indeed, was Victor Nikiforov. In their local breakfast show. And Phichit seemed to see him as well. What was it about overworking again?

 _“Victor, will you reveal what’s brought you to the city so suddenly?”_ The host asked.

Victor grinned to the camera.

 _“It’s not a big deal, but can’t tell anything till the day after tomorrow. So stay tuned.”_ He blinked.

Suddenly the lack of drink along with Yuuri’s cereal became disturbing as his throat became dry.

Phichit only snorted.

“I don’t get what you see in this guy. He’s screaming pretentious with his _everything_.”

Yuuri couldn’t answer because the show continued and…

_“And what’s up with the latest post on your Instagram? You became silent after posting that mysterious photo and your fans are dying to know if you found the black T-shirt boy.”_

How Yuuri managed not to howl at that moment he had no idea.

The smile glued to Nikiforove’s face broke for a second, as if something irritated him.

 _“No. I’m still looking for him.”_ Victor smiled _. “But I’m determined to find him. The earphone told me she’s feeling lonely.”_ Another blink to the camera.

The host laughed and they switched topics to Victor’s latest album so Yuuri could just focus on his panic attack and devising a plan of avoiding metro in general. Just in case.

On the screen Victor said something and Phichit started crackling.

“Oh, that was a good one! Yuuri? Earth to Yuuri!”

Yuuri didn’t look at him.

“Toilet.” He murmured.

It was all he could do. Sit on a toilet and rethink it again. Let’s start with something easy. Like deciding whether he should be happy that he wasn’t getting insane and had no hallucinations, or worried that the last person he wanted to be seen with was actively looking for him and announcing it in local television.

“Yuuri! Are you sure you don’t want some pancakes?” Phichit yelled from the kitchen.

“Sure!” Yuuri yelled back and pressed forehead to his knees.

At least there were _some_ constants in the universe, and not wanting Phichit’s food would always stay one of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chipmunk, chimpunk, chimpanzee... eee?
> 
> Is Yuuri acting weird? Yeah.
> 
> Does he know that? Nah.
> 
> Am I going to do something about that in the future? Of fucking course. Apparently I’m unable to write more than a couple hundred worlds without outlining most of the plot in my head anyway :/
> 
> I'm going to do my best to keep the chapters under 1k, so, as Victor Pretentious Nikiforov said, stay tuned ;) I’m updating within next 48 hours :D


	7. Corner

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> corona-crowds everywhere do i didn't have time to update yesterday, sorry
> 
> hope you're all well and please enjoy some confused Victor :D

After spending two days jerking between TV shows and radio stations, which left him little time for whining, Wednesday morning welcomed Victor with early sunshine because he’d forgotten to draw the curtains the previous night. Not able to fall asleep again he reached for his phone though by now he had little hope to get reliable info about his earphone boy.

It wasn’t like no one answered the post. His inbox was exploding since then, and filtering through fake responds was devouring Victor’s evenings and nights, but none of them was his… His. Whoever he was. After spending five hours scrolling through fake traces he made a new post, asking to give him location, which allowed him filter through the messages quicker, as his fans didn’t seem to feel like let it go too quickly.

And now that he had nothing to do by the evening Victor’s longing came back with doubled strength, making him realise that other than stalking the metro station there was nothing he could do. Unless he wanted to write more specific description of his human loss, which he wasn’t even considering as an option.

He opened a note app, than closed it and reached to the night stand drawer, realised that in this house he didn’t have a night stand, opened the app again and started scribbling.

“Yura! Hurry up!”

“Shhh, I’m coming, jeez, there’s plenty of time!”

“We’re supposed to be there early, remember?”

“Who cares.” Yuri left his bedroom wearing skinny jeans and a T-shirt that looked as if he was sleeping in it for a week.

“What are you wearing?” Victor asked, trying not to sound too concerned.

“Clothes?” Yuri asked as if Victor was a complete imbecile.

“You can’t go in that.”

Yuri looked at Victor’s suit, fitted and well pressed, and not very resembling of Victor’s usual fashion choices.

“What? Why would I dress like a lawyer? Not that you usually dress like that, but I guess it’s for a show, like always.” Yuri rolled his eyes and passed him.

“We’re going to a top restaurant, they won’t let you in…” Victor had a few words in mind but he restrained and just waved his hand in the boys direction. “...in this.”

And God, Victor might have been eccentric, at times, but he never wore rags like that.

Yuri looked at him, as if wondering if Victor could be trusted, but then he saw himself in the hall mirror and winced.

“Fine.” He came back to his bedroom and Victor followed.

“Were you sleeping till now?”

“Fuck of.” Yuri hissed and opened the closet. “So that’s what the suit was for?”

“Yakov didn’t tell you?” Victor rose and eyebrow.

“No? He only told me to take it.”

Victor sit on the side of Yuri’s bed and sighed.

“He didn’t tell you or you weren’t listening.”

Yuri shrugged.

Victor got up again, impatient, as he was sure the cab was already waiting, and started walking through the bedroom. Yuri was cursing about being uncomfortable and stuff when something on the floor drew Victor’s attention.

“Is that Popo’s promo T-shirt?”

“Wha…”

But Victor was already holding it up and grinning devilishly.

“You give him all the shit and you sleep in his merch? Oh my God, wait till I…”

“That’s none of your business! And no, you can just throw it away. A damn nerd pour his coffee on my clothes in a store the other day and they gave me this to change into.” Yuri shivered, as if the memory was particularly unpleasant.

“And they had Popo’s T-shirts from _years_ ago of all things?” Victor seriously doubted that.

“Ugh, yes? They said they didn’t sell.”

Victor rose an eyebrow.

“And where, if I may ask, is a store where they sell Popo’s merch?”

“That…” Yuuri looked critically at his suit jacket and left the bedroom. “…is none of your business.”

Victor was intrigued.

They left the cab a little bit away from the restaurant as Yura wanted to get his friend before coming in and left Victor alone, perfectly visible in the middle on the city. Just great. Victor started walking not to draw more attention until he reached the end of the square and returned. There still wasn’t anyone he knew in front of the restaurant, so he pretended he was reading a poster at an easel by the entrance, informing that today starting at eight in the evening there will be live piano music performed by some Katsuki Yuuri.

Victor thanked himself for forcing Yuri to wear the suit and went back to the street corner, still not wanting to come in alone. He checked out his watch, showing quarter past seven, and took his phone to check the Instagram comments for what seemed like hundredth time today, but there was nothing interesting there.

Resigned, Victor put the phone back into his pocket and stopped at the corner to turn around again when someone run into him. He was sure to fall on his back when a hand grabbed his wrist and jerked him forward so Victor somehow kept his balance.

“I’m so sorry, I was hurrying and I...” The voice stopped suddenly in the middle of the apology, as if the person had forgotten how to speak all of a sudden. Victor wanted to say it was fine, and his fault for stopping in the middle of the sidewalk like a stupid, when his eyes crossed with a pair of huge, brown and scared ones, and then Victor’s sight slipped onto his worn out sneakers and the other hand tightening on a familiar bag strip and back on the face and…

“You!” Victor said, smiling at the recognition, but the other man squeaked, passed him and run away, again leaving Victor alone and confused.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeaaaah... nevermind


	8. Venison

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> いただきまあああす！  
> Приятного аппетита  
> Bon appétit!  
> Enjoy your meal

Yuuri run around the building and shut the back door, glancing nervously behind his shoulder but he wasn’t chased. He pressed his back to the door and slid down, breathing heavily not from running but from the shock. What on Earth was happening he didn’t know, but at that point he started getting afraid that Victor Nikiforov would jump out of his backpack if he wouldn’t be careful.

“Traffic?” Stephanie, one of the kitchen staff, passed him carrying a container filled with meat. Yuuri looked at her surprised. “Anyway, you needn’t run, it’s hardly half past seven.”

Yuuri collected himself from the floor and went to the staff room to sit heavily by a cluttered table. When he eventually managed to calm his breath a little Stephanie came back with two plates and sat next to him, chirping about what was in today’s menu. But Yuuri didn’t hear her.

The food was one of main perks of this job: top table dinner form the rotating menu for half of the week, for free, which alone was fantastic. And when contrasted with Phichit’s cheerful but inedible kitchen outputs the food was one of the highlights of Yuuri’s week.

But not today. Today he was shoving it to his mouth mindlessly, trying to figure out how it was possible to run into the person he was actively trying to avoid in only few days and why said person seemed to not only remember him but, contrary to Yuuri’s doing, actively trying to find him. Unfounded reputation fears aside, what could Victor damn Nikiforov see in Yuuri, of all people. That is unless it was all a joke. Or maybe a hidden camera. That would make sense, if only it wasn’t for the “ _You”_ …

Twang.

Yuuri’s fork hit an empty plate.

“Are you ok?” Stephanie asked, slowly, observing him from side.

“No. Yes? Ugh…”

“If you need to talk ab…”

“I just had harsh week.” Yuuri sighted, trying to make it sound convincing, which should work because it was the truth, come on!, but he failed.

The girl nodded.

“I’ll tell Leo to keep an eye on you.”

“I don’t…”

“Me neither.” She collected their plates and snapped Yuuri’s head. “Twenty minutes.”

Yuuri spent them doing breathing exercise and convincing himself that coincidences happened. Then he got up and walked twice through the corridor between the room, the kitchen and the dining hall, to eventually stop by the double door to the hall and glance at his watch. Leo attacked him immediately, balancing countless pieces of dirty tableware and somehow managing to keep his uniform perfectly clean.

“Five minutes, Yuuri!”

“I know, I’m ready, see?” Why wouldn’t they leave him alone in a day like that?

Leo rolled his eyes.

“Gosh, Steph was right.” Leo emptied his hands by the wash up counter and waved his hand. “Are you going to play in _that_?”

Yuuri looked down at his worn out jeans, t-shirt improved with scissors probably more than once and, on top of that, sneakers. He’d forgotten to change. Shit.

* * *

Once they all gathered there where fourteen of them. Victor and Yura, along with the young Kazakh composer that had been doing his shady things till the last minute, Mila who by the time managed to distress Victor even more asking his if he saw a ghost, heh, funny, Mila, seriously. Yakov came with his ex-ex-wife, or what was their status actually?, Victor wasn’t sure anymore, and with them came the four Italians that all the fuss was about, twins and their managers. And the crème de la crème of the gathering, the Leroys.

Victor wasn’t sure who and how managed to make them sit by one table, as Leroys were doing everything to discredit him for years now and in response Victor was driving then nuts ignoring it completely. But his job was to be there and smile while Yakov was doing his part, so he told himself he should behave.

They were invited to more private space on the side of the restaurant rounded with screens and Victor, to his upmost irritation, ended up sitting between Yuri (which was fine) and Jean-Jack Leroy (which made him feel like the little angry teenager by his side). How lovely.

The conversation went from very awkward to just awkward, and Victor still desperately didn’t want to be there. They were waiting for the main course of venison in red wine, for most of them, when the background music went silent and a few minutes later the calming sound of piano filled the building. It must have been the poster man.

Victor closed his eyes for a while, glad the screens weren’t very effective at blocking sounds, and wondered how did someone playing so delicately ended in a restaurant, without a proper introduction or anything? It was quite a no to him.

Half an hour later Victor was empting his fourth glass of wine in the trial of making the conversation with the Canadian singer just a little bit less dreadful and his bladder protested. He got up, passed the hall, which allowed him to take a look at the pianist, sitting nonchalantly in his well fitted suit and hair combed back. His eyes hidden behind a pair of blue framed and a little bit outdated glasses were almost closed.

Humming the piano melody, Victor dried his hand with a fancy paper towel and left the… Oh, no! The door lock didn’t move. Victor searched his pockets but he left his phone by the table, in his jacket.

Oh, no…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh to be the force majeure that dried out the grease in the door lock.  
> Oh wait.  
> It's me! D:


	9. Tiles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Victor Robinson Crusoe of Fancy Toilets Nikiforov and...

„What do you mean someone got stuck in the toilet?”

“I mean someone stuck in the toilet. What else could it mean?” Yuuri looked sceptically at Stephanie, who was half listening to him and half decorating plates with thin slices of layered cake.

The women snorted but somehow managed to end the last seemingly messy splatter of chocolate just right. She put the tray of plates on the ready orders table, hit the bell, yelled something only the kitchen staff understood and crossed her hands before looking at Yuuri.

“Tell the manager or…”

“She’s busy with some special guest…”

“So at the entrance…”

“Sitting new guests…”

“Cloakroom l…”

“Gods, Steph. Don’t we have, I don’t know, a key or something?” Yuuri moaned and glanced at his watch. His time, too, was ending. And he had to go to the staff toilet before the next half an hour by the piano.

“Didn’t you notice it only opens from the inside? I… I’ll try to find and call a locksmith.”

“It’s nine in the evening!”

“So there should be some emergency services, no?” Stephanie asked, rather hopelessly. “I’ll tell Emil, don’t worry about it.”

“Fine.”

“Oh, well, just tell they toilet guy he’ll have to wait a little bit longer. And ask him what table he sits by so we can tell the other guests they don’t need to freak out.”

“Fine.” Yuuri repeated, slightly irritated. Or maybe it was his full bladder?

Yuuri knocked the door.

“Sir? Excuse me?”

“Yes?” The voice was very muted by the thick wood but at least Yuuri could make out the words.

“We’ll call for a locksmith and by the time you’ll have to wait a little longer.”

Silence.

“Could you tell me by which table you sit do we can inform your friends?”

“Oh. Right. It’s the long table at the other side of the hall, behind the screens.” They voice responded. “Do you know how long it may take?”

Yuuri hesitated. Seriously, how long?

“We’ll try to let you out as soon as possible, but please be patient.”

“Understood.” The voice said, and Yuuri felt sorry for the man.

“If by the time the locksmith won’t come, I’ll come to check on you in half an hour, ok?”

“Sure.” The voice said.

Yuuri run to Emil to update him on the table situation and, probably unaware that his hair became a little bit messy from all the hush, sit in from of the piano.

* * *

Victor was sitting on the floor, his back leaning by the unfortunate door, and for seventh time he was counting the tiles on the walls. Including the cut ones under the sink there were three hundred twenty nine of them, or that’s what he got counting for the last four times, so he counted them again. He had nothing else to do.

Thanks to the restaurant staff updating him, and Yuri and Mila screaming by the door before Yakov came to get them, Victor knew he spent over three hours in the toilet. The restaurant was closing and the locksmith was on his way for the last two and half an hour, but he was the only one working this late. The night must have been particularly abundant in people who got stuck in toilets, or lost their keys. Or both.

_Knock knock._

“Vitya?” The sounds were so distorted Victor knew it was Yakov only by the diminutive.

“Yes?”

“I talked to the staff. They don’t know how long you’ll have to wait and the Leroys and Crispinos are gone by now. I’m taking the kids to the house, can you just take a cab?”

Victor was glad Yakov couldn’t hear his sigh.

“Sure. Just make sure to leave my phone and jacket and…”

“Great. The locksmith will be anytime now, but the manager promised someone will wait with you even if unlit morning.”

Victor withdrew from a sarcastic comment and mentally prepared for making sure if there were, indeed, three hundred twenty nine tiles on the walls.

_Knock knock._

Victor jerked his head. Was he falling asleep?

“Sir? Are you ok?”

“Is this the rescue? The locksmith came, right?” Victor hoped for it so much.

“No, not yet. We’re almost closing so I’ll wait here with you if he won’t come before the rest of the staff is done with cleaning the kitchen.”

“Oh, fine. Aren’t you cleaning with them?” Victor asked, not really caring but some conversation with a stranger form behind the door was better than getting insane here alone.

“No, no, I don’t work in kitchen.” The men said and Victor was wondering if he only imagined that he sounded as if it was a bad thing. Probably just imagined though, cause the voices sounded like through a wall of water.

“What do you do then?”

“I… I just play the piano some evenings.”

Victor’s lip corners slowly went up.

“So it was you! It was fantastic!” And Victor could add a body to the voice, even if only seen by a short glimpse, which somehow was reassuring.

“Aaah. It’s nothing, really.” The man said, almost too quiet for Victor to hear.

“But I mean it! I work in music industry myself, I’m serious.” Victor said. “Do you compose anything yours?”

Silence.

“It’s fine if not…”

“Why would you ask that?”

_What?_

“Why wouldn’t I?” Because why, seriously.

“Because people usually ask for my favourite composers, not if I compose _myself_.”

Victor considered the answer.

“So you do compose!” Not a question.

“I… Hmm… Why are we talking about me?”

Victor was opening his mouth when a loud, female voice made its way through the thick door.

“Yuuri! The locksmith is here!”

“Great!” Yuuri yelled back.

And Victor. Victor wasn’t anywhere nearly as excited about ending the conversation and being freed as he had thought he would be half an hour earlier.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... Katsuki Don't Ask Me About Myself Yuuri


	10. Door

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *looks at a pair of glasses* Is this a disguise?

Stephanie finished cleaning the kitchen floor and run to catch her last bus home, leaving Yuuri with the locksmith that came out to be a middle-aged, talkative woman, and instructing him to call a cab and give the bill to the manager.

Yuuri sighed and watched the woman working, hardly hearing her words. It took her surprisingly little time to set the stuck man free and Yuuri was wondering how many calls she’d had that night if it had taken her so long to get there.

“I suggest to choose something that opens from both sides next time.” She said while opening the door widely.

Yuuri must have been a part of someone’s wicked game because the man leaving the toilet was, for the third time in less than a week, Victor Nikiforov. Why again?! He was wearing the same smart suit that he had a few hours earlier when Yuuri had run into him and now it seemed only logical that he'd been going to the restaurant. Where else could he go, being Victor Nikiforov and wearing a suit of all things?

“Thanks God!” Victor said leaving the toilet quickly, as if afraid the door would close again. “I started thinking I’d never go out!” He said to the locksmith lady who was collecting her tools.

“Do you want me to install a new one now or later?” She asked Yuuri, kind of ignoring Victor’s gratitude.

“L-later.” Yuuri stuttered, trying to contain himself and face whatever Victor had to tell him like a man, because Victor’s blue-blue eyes were already at him.

“So it was you waiting with me!” Victor cheered and grabbed his hand to shake it. “Thank you so much! Your piano play is amazing.” Victor showed him his trademark smile, but there was no recognition in his eyes. Did he not remember him? “Katsuki, right?” Oh, now Yuuri prayed to all gods that Victor, indeed, wouldn’t recognise him until he’ll be safe away from here.

“Yes.” Yuuri said and looked away, taking the opportunity that he had to pay the lady.

“Right!” Victor yelped. “My cloak.” He run to the cloak room before Yuuri could stop him and came back a moment later handing the locksmith lady a bill much higher than what Yuuri had actually paid her. “For the fatigue.” Victor smiled brightly.

The woman looked at the money, then at him, with opened mouth, and eventually said a quiet “Thank you.” before she left, hurrying to another unfortunate client.

“We’re very sorry for the situation, sir.” Yuuri said, looking somewhere above Victor’s eyes.

“It’s ok. My companion was incredibly boring anyway.” Victor waved his hand. “Shall we go then?”

“Sure. I’ll let you out and close, sir.”

“It’s Victor.” Victor grinned again, this time a little bit different. Softer.

“Oh. Ok.” _I know perfectly well myself,_ Yuuri thought. “It’s Yuuri, then. Katsuki is my kind of surname.”

“I see.” Victor said and passed the front door. “Do you play here often?”

Yuuri hesitated, but there was probably no point in lying as the entire schedule was easily searchable in the internet.

“Only three times a week.” He said, vague on purpose. “Goodnight, s… Victor.” He said before closing the door after Victor.

“Aren’t you leaving too?” Victor looked at him surprised and almost disappointed.

“I am, but I have to take my bag and leave through the back door.” Yuuri explained, hoping it was enough to make Victor go.

“Oh. I’ll wait here then.” Victor said happily.

“What? No. No! You don’t have to…”

“But I want to!” Victor said and his smiled deepened into a heart.

Yuuri looked at him and frowned.

“Why?” He asked after a while of silence.

“I just wanted to talk a little bit longer with my life saver.” He shrugged.

For a moment Yuuri was speechless at the obvious exaggeration. But it was Victor Nikiforov, known for being a little weird at times, so…

“Ok then, I’ll come back here when I’m done, ok?”

“Ok!”

At first Yuuri was going to just leave through the back door and not come back to the front. Then he thought it would mean leaving Victor to wait there for him for a while, maybe for another hour, before he’d realise Yuuri wasn’t going to come. It would be even worse than making an ass from himself. To wait for nothing after hours spent stuck in a toilet? Victor didn’t deserve that. He was nothing but nice to Yuuri so far and it was Yuuri escaping and acting, he just realised, maybe a little bit weird.

But still, he wasn’t going to let Victor know they’d met before. He resigned from changing into his usual clothes, leaving his jeans and ripped T-shirt in the suit bag and pushing converse under a bench. It wasn’t like he’d only have one pair of them so not a big deal. He left his training bag in the restaurant too and kept his glasses on, even though he preferred contacts, especially at night, he suspected that not clothes but the glasses did the trick of making him unrecognisable. Carefully locking the back door, he went to face the force of music industry again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Idk if it's just me, but time perception these days is just not and I feel like I just updated it and I didn't and what? At the same time I feel like last week lasted at least a month and that's how it is, I reached the point in which I put writing this into my schedule along with washing my hair and using a face cream, welcome to the rock bottom D:
> 
> Hope you're doing a little bit better than the minimum that I do and I'll update asap so probably till Wednesday :*


	11. Yellow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Or more like _yell_ and _low_ in Yuuri's head, which happens here a lot but it's Victor's POV ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

Making sure nothing significant happened during the time of forced isolation and sending Yakov a message that he was freed, Victor sat on the low wall siding the high entrance to the restaurant and leaned back to the door, letting one of his legs swing on the side.

The night was approaching midnight and here, downtown but on a quiet street, the city was almost asleep. Nothing was disturbing the yellowness focused around old streetlights and he could hear a car coming before it even appeared on the tiny square before the restaurant. The air was getting crisp, still not cold but enough to make Victor wish he’d had something cosier on his back, but also to make him feel alive in the exclusive way that only occurred at nights, on the way home, when it wasn’t supposed to be the joy of life itself, but it was, even more than the preceding events. What was an award gala and a party in a room full of people compared to walking empty streets on his own two legs right after?

Victor’s stomach made a sound, reminding him that he hadn’t finished his dinner. He’d barely touched it. Fortunately no one was here to hear…

His eyes made a check round through the surroundings and he noticed Yuuri looking at him from the bottom of the stairs, silently. How long had he been standing there? Did he hear that?

Their eyes met and the pianist quickly turned his away, as if he was caught on staring, which was cute. Victor was used to people staring at him shamelessly, not even asking for permission before jumping in front of his face with a camera. And yet Yuuri did. But, to give him credit, he probably didn’t know who Victor was. They came from two sides of the music realm, sides that now collided on pure coincidence. And that made Victor… Curious. Curious that is. This and nothing else. Yep!

He jumped from the wall, not onto the stairs but to the side, the show off part of him not letting go of the possibility to silently scream: _Look, I can jump from nearly two meters and land without a fail! Did you see?_

“So…” Yuuri started, looking somewhere left of Victor, which felt as if he was avoiding his gaze. “Shall we go then?”

“Yes!” Victor exclaimed, which in the night silence sounded particularly loudly. “I mean… If you don’t mind…”

“N-no…”

“Great! Where are we going then?” Saying that he was already at Yuuri’s side, and when this time their eyes met he could saw the pianist’s eyes were a warm shade of brown. Or maybe it was the streetlights’ doing?

“Where do you want t…”

Victor’s stomach made another miserable sound.

“Oh, right! You must be starving!”

“A little.” He admitted and another sound seconded the answer. “Or maybe even more than a little, that is…”

Victor watched Yuuri bit his bottom lip and almost chew it, and caught himself on wandering how would it feel to bit the lip himself. But he wasn’t Chris, damn it, what was he thinking?!

“Let’s get something to eat then.” Yuuri said and nodded, as if agreeing to his own words.

“This late?” Victor asked, doubting if anything would be open at the late hour.

“Sure. This way.”

He lead Victor right and behind the corner, _that_ corner. Victor sighed to himself and stopped, wondering if maybe he should ask if Yuuri haven’t seen a dark haired boy in black hanging around there.

“Are you coming?” Yuuri asked, already a few meters before him, and Victor only shook his head. He could let it wait, just for the night.

“Sorry I didn’t bring you anything to eat.” Yuuri said. “I was kind of stressed, I’ve forgotten to…”

“Don’t worry about that. Where are we going?”

“The only decent place open this late. It’s not very… fancy.” Yuuri looked at Victor’s suit, then at his own, and rolled his eyes. “But it’s good. And I never get poisoned after eating there.” He added after a while.

“Poisoned?” Victor asked, desperately trying to push the conversation.

“If you knew my flat mate you wouldn’t ask.” Yuuri said. “He treats cooking like a hobby, but has a long record of messed up recipes.”

“I have kind of the opposite situation.” Victor said. “I live alone, but I have friends who cook so well. Yuri, I mean my friend, not you, he’s only a teenager, but he bakes the best…” _What the fuck are you doing, Victor? You don’t tell newly acquaintanced people that you’re best friends with a KID, and said kid is a better cook than you. What the ACTUAL fuck, Victor?_

“It must be nice.” Yuuri said. “I swear that one day I’ll get a dog, a huge one, specifically to get rid of food from my plate faster.” Short pause. “I mean, not that I don’t like dogs in general, dogs are grea…”

Victor didn’t let him end the sentence, already shoving his phone with the gallery of Makkachin picks from every angle and in every possible set up on to Yuuri's hands. Just let’s forget about baking teenagers, ok?

It was surprisingly easy to distract Yuuri with Makkachin’s photos, because he seemed to be genuinely interested in watching them, stopping on the cutest ones for too long. Victor had to grab his elbow before he walked into a streetlight, and then ask for directions at a road crossing where it came out they passed their destination.

“It’s here.” Yuuri moved his head towards doors that Victor wouldn’t have paid attention to himself, and looked at him asking for validation. The doors were levelled with the street and Victor would miss it as a… whatever it was, because the windows were boarded up and no light was coming through. The signboard above the door, scratched and unnoticeable, read _Yellow Purgatory_.

„Wanna come in?” Yuuri asked.

Victor did _not_ want to come in.

“Sure.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “forced isolation” *cries in quarantine*
> 
> Baking teenagers? Teenagers who bake? Or baking the teenagers? You know from context but still, I was betaing and imagined Yurio tided up and with an apple in his mouth and had to share the vision, sorry for harassing your brains.
> 
> I swear this is not what it looks like :v
> 
> 千
> 
> I've accidentally written four chapters instead of one so I'm adding a new chapter of bt&c every day at least till Saturday \o/ and if not you can literally yell at me because it'd mean I just forgot to update that day :P


	12. Ketchup

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *offers you a plate of awkwardness and second-hand embarrassment* _Please enjoy!_
> 
> If only Victor knew Yuuri’s brain at the moment is reduced to two cells competing which is the louder internal screamer.

To say the truth, Victor had never been in a pub before. First he’d been too young, and then too famous to go to one and hope to stay anonymous, not to mention he’d never really had friends who wouldn’t have drawn nearly as much attention as he himself. So it was quite unexpected for him that _Yellow Purgatory_ wasn’t a dark sect meet up spot but a regular, at least for Victor, who had no previous experiences, pub serving drinks and the insane variety of four types of hot-dogs with fries.

“How did you even know it was here?” Victor asked, sitting on the only free sofa in the non-smoking room.

Yuuri shrugged.

“We come here sometimes after work. But we change first.” He added when Victor looked at his suit and then at the pub, full of old, used up sofas, not two of them matching, and topped with disturbingly yellow ceiling.

They placed their order by the counter and came back to their table, where Victor tried to get to know more about Yuri but he was dodging all of his questions and after a while he gave up. Maybe he was just imposing?

“Sooo… How did you end up playing in the restaurant?” Victor asked once their food arrived and he flashed down half of his beer at once, only after he tasted it realising how thirsty he was. Yuuri was stubbornly asking for non-alcoholic one which, to Victor’s displease, didn’t have the power to relax the atmosphere.

“What do you mean?” Victor watched him play with a fry in ketchup. “How did I get my job?”

Victor swallowed his own fry and licked the grease form his lips.

“I just think you could play for like, you know, more serious audience.”

Yuuri gave him a sceptical look, as if Victor was making fun of him, and Victor wanted to explain himself, cause indeed, he’d been told multiple times he wasn’t the best at expressing his thoughts, but Yuuri answered first.

“I like playing, but I don’t like it when people look at me.” He said quietly. “So it’s good this way.”

Victor couldn’t answer to that, so they were eating in silence and Victor’s plate was empty quickly, yet he could have twice as much.

“Why?” Yuuri asked once Victor swallowed his last bite.

“What?”

“Why do you ask me that? Why do you care?” Victor didn’t know. He was trained to small talk with everybody and anybody, and he could ask questions people wanted to be asked, and yet with Yuuri? He actually wanted to hear the answers. Maybe that was why Yuuri didn’t seem to want to give them.

“I’m just curious.” He said nervously, looking for a topic to change. His eyes set on their empty plates.

“Do you want another one?” He grinned. “I’m still hungry.”

“I shouldn’t, actually.” Yuuri bit his lip.

“Me neither.” Victor got up. “So we can share one.” He grinned wider.

Yuuri ruined Victor’s hopes to very literally share a hot-dog with a knife and one firm cut through the middle, depriving him of the fun of eating one big bun together. And he really tried to make it less awkward with his survivor! Why wasn’t he cooperating?

“Excuse me. Are you Victor Nikiforov?”

Victor didn’t choke on his food only thanks to the years of practice. Yuuri didn’t have that much luck and before Victor even looked at whoever was asking he had to pat Yuuri’s back first.

“I-I’m fine.” Yuuri said eventually.

Victor looked up at two young women smiling at them, one trying to hide behind the other.

“Yes, hi.” Victor said, slowly, trying to get into his public mode which wasn’t that easy after just drying out two glasses of beer.

“Can we take a picture with you?” The bolder one asked and Victor used all his willpower not to sigh.

“Yes.” He repeated and sent Yuuri and apologetic look.

The girl smiled wider and dragged her shy friend to Victor’s side. Another girl, looking rather bored with the situation, got up from a nearby table and stood in front of them with a raised phone.

“Smile.” She said gloomily.

“Wait.” Said Yuuri, who was doing everything not to appear on the photo.

“Yes?” Victor asked, feeling the situation was getting more and more surreal.

“Ekhm, you…” Yuuri took a deep breath. “You’ve got ketchup on your shirt.” He said quickly, as if it was painful to vocalize.

Victor looked down and, indeed, there was a huge red smudge going through his bright button up and ending with a single fry on his trousers.

The moan that was making its way onto his mouth, unlike the sigh a while ago, he wasn’t able to contain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And the official statement regarding Victor's fans, the ketchup and the fry is that the two excited ladies missed it and the third one is me and would actually enjoy messing with her friends and let it be.
> 
> Just before the update I was peacefully emptying my dishwasher and came up with a terrible idea that I'm totally gonna use here at some point, poor Russian kitten...
> 
> Till tomorrow :*


	13. Scab

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *strokes it gently*

After the impossible night spent hanging around the city and testing gastro phase foods with Victor Of All People Nikiforov Yuuri needed to make sure that, after all, he didn’t switch the universes. Which was relatively easy for Yuuri, obsessed with Victor to the point he collected every single piece of material concerning his idol, taken from a legal or illegal source? Didn’t matter.

With only his face sticking from the blanket, Yuuri was watching for the n-th time one of his favourite and least favourite videos of Victor, downloaded from a suspicious Russian server and maybe till now finally deleted from the Internet for good. It was a short video from Victor’s old, deleted YouTube channel, right after he got Makkachin. So basically from the time Yuuri had no idea Victor existed, and the videos seemed just as surreal and the last hours, as if they weren’t actual things. But the fact they existed, simultaneously, in one timeline, must have meant that, indeed, they were very actual.

Yuuri loved the videos because it was pure overloaded cuteness and at the same time he’d been experiencing painful second-hand embarrassment every time he was watching them. The channel was deleted for a reason. Which was teenage Victor at the verge of mutation, with high ponytail decorating his head, in his song writing acoustic phase, making videos of his own texts, usually in Russian, accompanied by simple, almost boring guitar licks, and his quickly forgotten attempts to ukulele. Yum…

Before noon Yuuri was going through another heart attack and rethinking everything again. And again.

He went out with Victor Fucking Nikiforov, shared with him a hot-dog after, in a while of forgetting all his survival instincts, he showed him his favourite pub, and stared at pictures of his dog like an idiot. Then pointed Victor had food on his clothes in front of his fans and eventually had to admit he knew him but didn’t recognise him at first sight (hah, hahahah) The fact Yuuri knew him for some reason surprised Victor even more than Yuuri acting awkwardly stupid, and he ended the night with Victors number saved in his phone. Saved after he’d taken the still hungry singer to a kebab kiosk and watched him devour extra-large tortilla in what felt like less than five minutes. At least knowing his identity had been revealed he stopped asking Yuuri questions, which was a relief.

Yet Yuuri still was staring at the new saved contact and wondering if it wasn’t another episode of the series of hallucinations and did the most stupid thing he could.

He pressed the call button.

“Hello?” He heard before third signal what definitely was Victor Nikiforov’s voice and, panicked, hung up.

After that Victor called him twice but Yuuri didn’t answer his phones.

“Everything ok?” appeared on his screen right after the second call and Yuuri answered it with “Sorry, missclick.”

Following his freshly developed paranoia Yuuri glared all over the metro station, and then the train before getting in. The fact he was left with a single earphone didn’t bother him, because he wouldn’t dare to turn on music in public anyway. Not since realising the first incident hadn’t been a dream. Not since he’d first seen Victor in person. Victor, who still believed suit-pianist-Yuuri and black-t-shirt-and-converse-earphone-guy where two different people. Good for Yuuri.

He jumped out of the train and the wind was tickling his ankles the way he didn’t like, but he’d left his high sneakers in the restaurant and had to take the shorter pair which was rubbing his heels uncomfortably.

Damn him, Victor Nikiforov and his ever present self!

Yuuri entered his third workplace, an elementary school, from the back and went through empty corridors covered with colourful drawings to the smaller training room. He had to calm down. Damn, he really had to calm down. The kids would be there in less than half an hour.

He carefully changed into his training clothes, resisted the urge to open Instagram and rather than that left the tiny office and started warming up, trying to pay attention to the moves of his body and that only. The sound of school bell didn’t distract him and he continued until he felt a delicate pat on his thigh. One of the few girls in the class, Livia, was looking at him with her mouth widely open.

“Hi there.” Yuuri smiled. “Did something happen?”

Livia looked down.

“Does it pain?” She asked.

Yuuri followed her eyes. She was looking at the reddened backs of his ankles that he must have owed walking half of the night in that terrible, uncomfortable suit shoes. There was a scab that he hadn’t noticed till now right above his left ankle.

“It’s nothing.” Yuuri smiled to her and watched her shrug and go to other children. Then he examined it closer. How hadn’t he noticed it earlier? Because of… No. NO! But the irritation was there and now that he realised it existed it started to prickle annoyingly.

Victor’s number saved on his phone was one thing, but peeling skin off to the flesh was too… Too. It was becoming a lot and he needed to tell somebody about it before it would overwhelm him completely. So when the classes ended instead of going straight to the restaurant he gave up, came back home and told Phichit everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's high time, Yuuri...


	14. Conviction

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've almost forgotten but here it is, the shortest chapter I've ever written.

Victor carefully put the earphone on a high dresser before he got naked, leaving dirty clothes all over the bedroom and entered the shower. He doubted the ketchup covered button up could be saved, so he let it fold on the floor.

He left the shower warm and wet, and realised he hadn’t brought any towel to the bathroom, so dripping all over the carpets he went to the wardrobe and pulled the door. He opened it so enthusiastically that is smashed the dresser and moved it a little. Something rolled through the floor and Victor realised that the earphone wasn’t were he’d put it. He smashed the door back and, still wet and naked, dived under the bed to look for his precious token.

He almost reached it, hidden under the far end of the bed, when the door to his room opened and he could hear Mila’s annoyed voice.

“Victooor! It’s four in the mo…” Mila stopped and Victor was painfully aware that she must have just seen his naked ass sticking up from under the bed and dripping water. “Nevermind, just do whatever you're doing, but in silence, ok?”

She disappeared behind the door before Victor could say anything.

Trying to make as little noise as possible he went to the kitchen and, realising he shouldn’t be eating any more, he made himself a cup of tea, swinging the earphone in one hand with every move.

Was he obsessed? Maybe… But it was so frustrating! To meet the last person whom he’d accused of doing that listen to his embarrassing, old garbage, and then let him run away only to bump into him a few days later and let him go again. He wouldn’t be that frustrated if he wasn’t convinced (absolutely, irrevocably convinced!) that the guy ignored him on purpose. If he had any doubts after the first time, cause maybe Victor had imagined things, maybe the man downloaded his songs from a fishy torrent and had never seen his face, but after that running into him on the corner? Oh, no! Victor wasn’t leaving the city before finding him!

And until then he had to do something about himself, because he'd just experienced the most awkward night of his life. There was something off between him and Yuuri and Victor wasn’t sure why. Was he shy because he knew Victor was, well, famous? Or did no one other than flashy music industry crowds took him seriously? He didn’t know.

He needed to talk to somebody, and preferably drink something. Yep, he desperately needed that. So, slightly hesitant remembering their last private conversation, he called Chris. Nevermind he got yelled at for waking his friend up at five in the morning, but after Victor whining and moaning long and convincingly enough Chris agreed to meet in the evening and Victor could finally go to sleep, counting on Chris to magically solve all of his problems a few hours later.

Oh, little did he know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Victor goes to bed, I write in bed, you probably read in bed. We all in bed. If you not in bed, where do you read then? ._.


	15. Band aid

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> drama

Seeing Chris out of duty was always an experience for Victor, who more often than not met his friend on-line. It was the first time he was recording in Chris’ home studio, staying in the same city and being exposed to Chris pretending to be an ordinary person. Today he was wearing khaki pants and a white button up, and his big round glasses were actually suiting him.

“Over here!” Victor got up from the table and waved his hand.

“I wouldn’t have guessed.” Chris said, eyeing Victor’s pink shirt and matching shoes. “What’s important enough to wake me up in the middle of the night?”

“The earphone guy…”

“Seriously? Still that?”

“Don’t be mean. We had the meeting with Leroys yesterday and I ran…”

* * *

“…into him in front of the restaurant. And he recognised me, Phich, he recognised me!” Yuuri said, watching Phichit’s eyes that were now perfectly round and did nothing to hide the Thai’s excitement.

“And you?”

“Me?”

“What did you do when he recognised you?”

“What could I do? I escaped. What else could I do? He looked and me, said “You.” and I…

* * *

“…ran as if he saw a ghost, Chris! And I was so confused I didn’t run after him. I just didn’t know what to do.”

Chris pressed two fingers two his nose bridge.

“And you woke me up and made me come _here_ to talk about _that_?” Chris asked, as if he misheard. Then looked around the café Victor had chosen, packed with pot flowers, forged furniture topped with pastel cushions and photos of birds. Victor was proud of himself, but Christ didn’t seem to share his enthusiasm.

“No.” Victor said. “Not just that. So he ran and I went to the restaurant, and they have live music there every night…” Victor watched Chris roll his eyes. “…and there was the cute Japanese pianist.”

“You change your crushes quickly, don’t you?”

“No, it’s not like that. I mean, not because there’s the train guy, but let me end. I had to pee but then I stack in the toilet…”

* * *

“…door opened and I was talking to _him_ the _whole time_. I mean I was talking to Victor. _Nikiforov_.”

Phichit stopped even trying to pretend he didn’t have way too much fan than it could be justified.

“And then?”

“And then he asked to go with him for a walk and I wanted to refuse. But somehow I didn’t?”

“Are you asking me?”

“No. I mean. I don’t know how it happened, ok? One minute I planned to run away by the back door, at the other we were sitting in Purgatory, you know, the pub behind the corner, because I thought it would be mean to leave him there…”

“No way.” Phichit crackled. “You ignore the poor guy for days but then you feel pity for him?”

“I don’t ignore him.”

“Ignoring him is exactly what you do. Anyway, he didn’t recognise you dressed up and you took him to the pub and then?”

“And we ate hot-dogs and I was too scared to talk, pretty much that. He must think now I’m really dumb. And he was still asking questions, as if he wasn’t top of the league and I was somehow interesting. But it wasn’t the worst. The worst was that someone recognised him and asked for a photo and then I completely panicked and moved away. But when I moved away I noticed his shirt was all covered with…”

* * *

“…ketchup. I can’t even eat fries without making a fool of myself in front of new friends.”

“That’s a fascinating story.” Chris murmured, mixing in his cup with a bored face.

“And then I panicked, told him I was still hungry, which was true but made me look like a gluttonous monster, and he took me to a kebab booth and I ate, like, a whole big kebab before I thought what I was doing. And he, the Yuuri, was just watching.”

“Well…” Chris said. “…I have good news for you. You and the Japanese Yuuri would make a perfect couple. On the outside you both seem to be smooth musicians, but privately you sound like two socially incompetent idiots. Perfect match.”

“I don’t know why we’re friends.” Victor moaned. “You’re always so mean to me.”

“I’m not mean. I’m realistic. And what happened after you proved you had a black hole instead of a stomach?”

“I gave him my phone…”

* * *

“…number. And then before going to work I called it and he answered it, so I’m sure I didn’t make it up. And I have a scar by my ankle!” Yuuri moaned and rose his leg to show it to Phichit. “See?”

“That looks rough.” Phichit said. “So what you’re gonna do with that?”

“I don’t know. Wait till Victor leave the city and then continue living like nothing happened sounds like a good option.”

“Ok. Then delete his contact.”

“I… What? Why?”

“Because you don’t need it.” Phichit said, got up and went to the bathroom.

“I… I…” Yuuri stuttered. “I’d better leave it. To know to not answer if he called.”

Phichit came back and handed him a band aid for the scar, but smiled terribly.

“You just want to keep it.”

“I… Fair, maybe. I just don’t know what…”

* * *

“…to do.” Victor said and put his elbows on the table like a bored child.

“With your newly discovered thing for Japan?”

“Chriiis! I don’t know if the first guy is Japanese!”

“Right. You hardly recognise people you’ve been seeing for months, so hoping you’d be able to tell apart different…”

“Why do you always have to be so mean to me?”

“You have more sells. I have to get my reparations in SOME way.” Chris shrugged, without offence, and looked at his watch. “Ok then, if we don’t want to be late we have to go.”

“Be late for what?”

“For tonight Katsuki’s concert, obviously.” Chris blinked and got up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 千
> 
> I wonder what happens next...


	16. Friend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was almost out for a walk when a rainstorm appeared out of nowhere so have a chapter instead :D:

„Can you remind me why are you going with me?”

“Because you just spent half an hour freaking out and considering not showing up to work. So obviously you can’t be trusted to go by yourself.” Phichit said.

“I wouldn’t go anywhere else if you just let me be, you know?”

“I don’t.” Phichit sing-sang and got up. “It’s our station, right?”

“Yeah.” Yuuri said with resignation.

“Come on, cheer up a little. You met your secret idol, it’s not like the world is ending.”

Yuuri looked up at him from his seat. _As for whom?_ He thought.

They went up to the street and reached the front of the restaurant when Yuuri looked at the entrance, stopped, turned around in a truly cartoon style and retreated behind the building corner.

“What are you doing?” Phichit asked.

“It’s him.” Yuuri whispered, nevermind there was no point to keep voice down in the first place. “Victor Nikifororv. His stalking me!”

“Don’t be stupid. Are you sure it’s him?”

“Yes! Go look yourself if you don’t believe me.”

And Phichit did. Pressed to the wall Yuuri watched him go to the entrance and pretend to look at the poster with Yuuri’s name, while peeking at Victor and a blond man who was with him. And then something weird happened. The man that was waiting there with Victor noticed Phichit and smiled with what clearly was recognition, and Phichit, slightly surprised, smiled back. Yuuri watched in horror how Phichit came into the restaurant with the other two. Almost immediately he got a message from the Thai.

_I met a friend. I’ll try to get to know what Nikiforov wants from you, but don’t you dare escaping now._

That was exactly what Yuuri wanted to do, but before he managed to make the decision he heard Stephanie’s voice.

“There you are! What’s going on? Phichit told me to come and get you.”

Just great.

“How long did it take yesterday?” She asked, shutting the back door behind them in which Yuuri could clearly hear the sound of finality. About his fate, that was. Or fatality maybe? Something like that.

“Don’t ask.” Yuuri said. “Seriously, just don’t. What are we having today, anyway?”

“Boredom.” Stephanie pouted. “Organic chicken half in pepper marinade, carrot and rutabaga casserole and, like, a regular salad? Roasted garlic and bell pepper cream soup? And for de…”

“You really have to come for dinner one day. Phichit’s dinner. To appreciate things more.”

“No thanks, I have standards.” She blinked and disappeared by the kitchen door.

Yuuri took out his phone and attacked Phichit.

_What do you think you’re doing?_

_Having dinner with a friend? And a liiiiil investigation on your Hollywood crush ;3_

_Phichit I warn you!_

_And_

_How do you know a guy who knows Victor NIKIFOROV_

_I didn’t know he knew him. And it’s because of you_

_Explain_

_It was YOU who forced me to sign up for gym and then left me so I made friends with Chirs_

_._

_…_

_Just_

_Sit far away from the piano_

_Ok?_

_Too late_

_To say the truth_

_They kind of came here because of you_

_Both of you_

_:v_

_Tell me you’re joking_

_I’m joking_

_Phich!_

_Do something_

_What?_

_What can possibly go wrong?_

_Everything_

Yuuri didn’t even notice when a tray of food appeared in front of him. Judging from its size they must have mistaken a quail for a chicken, he thought, because serving the entire half for one person wasn’t as unreasonable as it sounded. He tried to focus on the food and push off the thoughts about playing in front of Victor of all people, this time fully aware of being listened to.

Ironically, Yuuri hadn’t gone to any of Victor’s two concerts in the nearby cities in the last years, because no matter how badly he wanted to go, for some reason even more badly he didn’t want to be seen there. _Especially_ in one of the nearby cities. So, thanks to the ever tricky fate, now Victor was going to listen to his concert. _Twice._

He looked down at his empty bowl and half-eaten chicken and regretted every bite he took, suddenly feeling sick and imagining his fingers sweating, missing keys and hitting too hard. His hands were already trembling when he was buttoning his shirt and he dropped his comb when a cook was passing him.

Looking at his put together reflection in the mirror he tried to convince himself that it was no different than any other day and calm down. Because, as Phichit said, what could go wrong? And the question initiated an avalanche of possibilities in Yuuri’s head, starting with going out to the scene, like he’d nearly done yesterday, in his sneakers, no matter he’d already checked twice what shoes were on his feet, and ending with accidentally playing one of Victor’s songs rather than his planned repertoire for the evening.

Damn it. Or rather him. Damn him. Victor. Him, him absolutely. Damn the earphone thief with angelic voice and matching hair. And damn his poodle. No, wait. Poodle no. Don’t damn the poodle, just the owner, ok? Just… Ugh.

Yuuri pressed his forehead to the mirror. If he survived it tonight, he promised himself, he would call Seung-gil right after and beg him to replace Yuuri on Friday. He was weirdly convinced that otherwise he would go crazy. Unless he'd already had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hands off Makkachin, Yuuri!


	17. Imbroglio

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phichit is like: dat blind idiot /o\

Apart from what his Instagram followers might have believed, Phichit was living peacefully (unless it was the rare occasion emerging only a few times a month, nothing spectacular, really, and he wasn’t) sharing his time between work in the music store, recording his weekly podcast and photographing bad cooking attempts, to his followers upmost delight. Compared to Yuuri’s three jobs and a gigantic, secret obsession with _certain somebody,_ Phichit found himself an ordinary, indistinctive guy.

That’s why when he went to inspect whom even from afar must have been Nikiforov, but Phichit had to come closer even if just to tease Yuuri, and someone called his name, he was surprised.

At first he didn’t recognise him, but when Chris took his glasses off and winked it clicked, even though without his usual skinny work out leggings the Swiss looked weird.

“Chris! Hi! You look...” Phichit smiled, thinking that maybe using the word _normal_ in this situation wouldn’t be the smartest choice.

“I’m good at switching looks.” Chris blinked again.

“What are you doing here?” Phichit asked, fully aware how stupid question it was to ask somebody standing in front of a restaurant.

“Look who’s asking.” Chris gave Phichit an apprising look. “My friend here, Victor, has a crush on the pianist that plays here tonight _and_ another guy who hangs around in the area. Mind to join us?”

If he joined them, Yuuri would kill him. So he must have agreed. He had no choice!

“But I’m not sure if they’ll let me in wearing this.” Phichit pointed at his clothes, unchanged after he came home from Celestino’s wrinkled T-shirt over greenish jeans, making Victor’s and Chris’ simple button-ups look almost formal in comparison.

“Don’t worry about that.” Chris waved his hand and pointed at Nikiforov. “Victor is a famous singer, they won’t dare to _not_ let us in with him.”

Victor smiled softly and shrugged, as if he couldn’t deny that but also didn’t see the need to do that.

“Ok then, why not.” Phichit grinned and immediately texted Yuuri, then Yuuri’s colleague, while watching Chris chirping to the hall manager about Victor and somehow, though not without troubling the staff to remake the furniture setup, getting them a table without reservation right in front of the piano.

Phichit was thrilled.

Victor got busy angling his chair so that he would have the best view of Yuuri, so Phichit took out the phone one last time to ask something before his friend will be lost to the piano forever, also known as half an hour. It was almost eight, after all.

_Can I tell them we know each other?_

_?_

_Yuuri?_

_No?_

_I mean_

_What for?_

_It’s gonna be awkward if I don’t_

_It WILL be awkward because you can’t afford to eat here, Phich, what you gonna do?  
Just end this before it gets worse_

_What, like your loaded filthy rich celebrity crush can’t pay for my dinner_

_You have no shame_

_You know I don’t_

_When will you come_

_When you’ll stop making me wanna run away_

_I was almost out_

_And then you texted_

_Ok ok, I’ll stop_

_So I can tell_

_I know you_

_?_

_I don’t know_

_Gotta go_

_^^_

“No, you don’t crush on the other guy for _sure_.” Chris said knowingly.

Victor was sitting opposite to the piano and chewing his bottom lip. He inspected his watch, glanced at the stage, than again at his watched, and winced. He was the only person to notice Yuuri was coming late.

“Maybe it’s cancelled tonight?” He said, and looked from Chris to Phichit with a pout.

Phichit sighed and leaned on his chair, preparing to drop a bomb.

“It’s not cancelled, there’s some… rush on the back.” He said.

“How do you know that?” Victor asked, suspiciously.

Chris tilted his head and looked at Phichit, as if to second his friend’s question.

Someone else could feel intimidated under the eye firing, but Phichit wasn’t just someone. He had no shame, as Yuuri said, so he leaned further on his chair and smiled.

“Yuuri’s my friend, we’ve been just texting.” He said, and waved his phone in front of Victor whose eyes wandered after it like a cat’s tracking a rod toy.

“You know each other.” Victor stated, still looking at the phone rather than at Phichit. “Brilliant!” He said with enthusiasm of a child set free in a candy store.

“Yes?” Phichit said, not sure why, unprepared for the shot of excitement.

“Yes! Maybe you know the other guy too!” And Victor proceeded to describing Yuuri, the actual one, not the stage version.

Sometime midway through the elaborate about the supposed texture of Yuuri’s undone hair, that costed Phichit all his willpower not to burst out laughing, Yuuri came out and Phichit had no idea how Victor thought they were two different people. But as long as Yuuri wanted to keep it that way Phichit wasn’t going to say anything. This was way too much fun to watch, if somebody asked him. Not that there was anyone to do that, and if Chris was squinting and tilting his head even more once Yuuri started to play and Victor was ending his ode to the cute boy he met twice this was none of his business. As he was informed later, apparently Victor had a new _type_. Even though the singer was doing everything to prove Chris wrong, with every next glass of liquor he was protesting less and less fiercely.

The fact it wasn’t a type, just one person messing with the Russian, was nothing but a little misunderstanding that, sooner or later, would be disclosed. And Phichit wasn’t sure whether he’d prefer sooner, or maybe rather later, because he was having _so much fun!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and Chris is like: wait a minute...


	18. Cherry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i went 22 words beyond my personal limit per chapter for this series and it's all drunk Victor's fault, i swear

There were things that Victor hasn’t been doing, ever, trained by Yakov’s side and taught the lessons lighter way, watching a few people not that much older than he was, people he’d been given the opportunity to meet personally, ending because of… the things. He also despised smoking, not only afraid what that could do to his voice, but also absolutely hating the smell.

Mixing alcohols, though, wasn’t one of those things. He liked his drinks like the liked his stage outfits – brightly coloured, different for every act, coming in two digit numbers for one evening and hitting the audience hard. Well, hitting him hard when the thing in question were drinks, not glittery skinny leggings.

That’s why when Yuuri ended the first part of his play Victor managed to contain himself and not call after him, which in a restaurant full of people that hardly even acknowledged someone was playing for them while they were digging in their plates would be indecent if not worse. But when the Japanese came back for the second part Victor was less and less listening to his companion and more and more focusing on staring. He was staring so intensely, trying to catch the pianist’s eye, that he started to suspect Yuuri was avoiding his gaze.

Before they decided what to order, which was pointless because in the end they just ordered everything, Victor dried two glasses of wine and, somehow, he couldn’t resist ordering something fancy to sip at the side. By the time they got soup he was already tipsy and the soup, how rude!, was red. And Victor really, really didn’t want to end up covered in red stains in front of Yuuri for the second consecutive evening.

Chris and his friend where already halfway through their bowls when Victor hesitantly ate the first spoon. Savoury umami mixed with vegetable sweetness and a hint of garlic tasted heavenly end he couldn’t resist eating more than enthusiastically, for a while letting his eyes drop from Yuuri to the table and focusing on the food.

He ate just a few spoons, soothing his first hunger, and was about to rise his head from above the almost empty bowl (and why the other two were still eating?) when a false note drew his attention. He jerked his head to look at Yuuri who now, for a change, was staring at him and quickly looked away when their eyes met.

Victor kept his eyes on him for a while longer, wondering if it was the one false note that made Yuuri so flustered, when he realised he had just devoured a bowl of soup in front of the man who had seen him in his hunger rage mode only yesterday. To ease his nerves Victor ended his drink in one smooth gulp and called a waiter to order another. In this situation it couldn’t be helped, no?

Their table was cleaned before serving the main course and Victor got a new drink. He wasn’t sure which one since they came, barely an hour earlier. Yuuri was back to calm and ignoring him and Victor was disappointed that they weren’t decorating drinks with the funny paper umbrellas here. Maybe if Victor started to nervously play with it Yuuri would stop ignoring him. Or, if that didn’t help, he could always stick a few little umbrellas into his hair. He was Victor Nikiforov, damn it, and if he was good at anything the thing was refusing to be ignored.

Someone patted his cheek and Victor rose his eyes from the drink.

“Hey, are you with us?” Chris asked, a hint of worry in his eyes. “I honestly start regretting brining you here.”

“Yeah, just…”

“Hmm?” Chris encouraged him after a while of silence.

“Don’t you think he’s ignoring me?”

“Who?”

Victor rolled his eyes because seriously, was Chris dumb?

“Yuuri!”

Phichit snorted.

“He’s performing, Vitya. _Performing_.” Chris said slowly, then looked at the glass in front of Victor. “You know what? I think you’ve had enough for now.” He took the glass and put it in front of himself.

“Give it back!” Victor protested, not very loudly but still, at least he tried!, before Chris drank it and put the empty glass back in front of him.

“Here you are, cheri.” He said and made an ugly smile. “You can order a new one only when you’re done with the main, ok?”

“Fine.” Victor agreed, feeling like a child, not quite aware that he was also acting like one.

By the time the main course arrived Yuuri played another false tune, Phichit made face, Yuuri reddened to the exact colour of the soup they ate and Victor was watching that all in awe. He wanted to get his food and finish it quickly to order another glass of something hard and sugary, but when a waiter put plates on the table, each containing half of a bird for them to dismember, like, using cutlery rather than bare hands because it was a high end restaurant and not a bucket of KFC in the blessed privacy of the back of a rented limo, Victor whined.

Yuuri came to sit by their table over an hour later, when Victor was back to his funny mood.

“So sorry to bother you but have you seen somewhere here a guy dressed like a rock band guitarist and he looks like…” Victor stared at Yuuri and considered something for a while. “He does look like you actually.” He had to ask that quickly, simply because otherwise he might forget. All his obsession with the earphone guy was somehow shoved aside when the Japanese pianist was nearby, making Victor come to a terrible realisation.

Yuuri winked at him and looked away, frowning.

Victor pressed his hands to his mouth and looked at Chris, scandalised.

“Oh no.” He said. “You were right. I _do_ have a _type_.”

He heard Yuuri breath out loudly, Phichit crackle, and Chris… Chris wasn’t looking at him. He was looking from Yuuri to Phichit and back.

“Like hell you do.” He said, eventually stopping his gaze on cherry red Yuuri.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> on one hand there's my hc of Victor in which he wouldn't get drunk _that_ quickly, on the other hand idk how much he had in Pekin but I feel like it escalated quickly :v


	19. Anonymous

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I guess my word count took a break D:

The light in the staff room seemed dimmed when Yuuri sat there heavily and let his hands shake, wishing to not be there. To think this was all because of the one gym membership sale a few years ago when Yuuri dragged Phichit to the club to sign up with him. And there he heard Victor’s single from the speakers that so annoyingly didn’t want to leave his ear, to eventually lead him to his unfounded obsession. And making Phichit friends with a friend of Victor in one go.

At least it was over for the evening, he could sneak out to go home and pretend it had never happened.

He was gulping the second glass of tap water that he got from the kitchen, damning the hygiene rules and the fact he wasn’t allowed to be in the kitchen in the first place, but at this point he felt like whatever. Stephanie put a cup of lemon balm tea in front of him and once he was done drinking water he tried to grab the cup, but it wasn’t easy with his hands still shaking and sweaty, only reassuring him he really needed the tea.

He barely sipped it when he saw a smiled face of the hall manager entering the room. They didn’t see each other often because Yuuri was using the back entrance and Emil was locating guests on the dining hall, perfect for the job with his ever smiling face and the power of making people unable to say “no” to his kindly spoken requests.

“Ah, Yuuri, here you are.” He said when he saw him and Yuuri realised something was wrong a second too late to protest. After all he, too, wasn’t resistant to Emil’s calm charm.

* * *

“Like hell you do.” The blond man said and set his eyes on Yuuri who had an itchy feeling that the man _knew_.

Phichit was looking at him with malicious jest in his eyes and Yuuri was regretting all the minutes he wasted on drinking when he should have done what his first survival impulse suggested – disappear. Run the hell as far away as possible from here and never come back.

“I d-don’t think so.” He said, answering Victor’s question that somehow went forgotten, wiped away by Victor’s sudden realisation that wasn’t helping Yuuri to keep himself put together in slightest. The only thing that was cheering him up was the fact that Victor was drunk and when people were drunk they weren’t thinking rationally, so Victor must have been babbling some utter nonsense. He _must_ have!

“What should I do now?” Victor said loudly and pressed his index finger to his mouth, a gesture that Yuuri was well familiar with after binge watching interviews with Victor whenever he had a bad day.

None of them answered the question because right away sweet, fruity smell enveloped them and Stephanie put a ceramic casserole in the middle on the table, along with four plates.

“Dessert!” She announced in sing-song voice, checking out everybody by the table, winking to Phichit and making a face to vexed Yuuri. She wasn’t a waitress, so the only reason why she would bring it herself was doing it purposefully, to mock Yuuri later. She came back after a while carrying four identical Old Fashioned glasses filled with a mixture that must have been White Russian, that she nonchalantly put in front of each of them and Yuuri realised that, to some point, she knew too.

“Excuse me, but we didn’t order that.” Chris said, looking worriedly at Victor who was a little bit too enthusiastically trying to portion the apple crumble she brought before and in the process spreading the little bit of ice cream it was decorated with everywhere.

Yuuri didn’t know where to look anymore.

“Don’t worry, that’s on house.” Stephanie smiled. “As an apology for tomorrow, and it today’s special.” She put the last glass in front of Yuuri and leaning whispered. “What a coincidence.”

“How…”

Phichit waved his phone, which for some reason drew Victor’s attention, and smiled.

“I have my ways.” The Thai said.

Yuuri sighed and sipped from his glass, discovering that the drink was actually based on some kind of walnut syrup and probably an actual shot of expresso, perfect for the late hour.

“Ah, Yuuri, you know what?” Victor asked, eventually resigning from cutting elegant wedges and sharing the casserole into four huge pieces.

“Hmmm?” Yuuri asked, keeping a straw in his mouth.

“You should come to our place and play with us!”

Oh, no. Oh, nonononononoooo. NO. And who were the us, by the way? As far as Yuuri knew only Victor and Plisetsky were he… _ABSOLUTELY NOT!_ Quickly, change the topic!

“So how long do you know each other with Chris? I feel like I’ve met him before but Phichit only knows him from the gym, right Phich? And I’m sure he’d mention if he knew any of…” Yuuri wasn’t given a chance to finish the sentence.

He only saw Phichit making curious eyes, as if he too wasn’t sure how could this happen that he had one friend with Victor and didn’t know about that, and Chris made big eyes, shaking his head to Victor and slowly getting up, but it was too late.

“Chris makes boylesque videos on YouTube and I anonymously compose some of the background music.” Said cheerfully very drunk and because of that temporarily very unaware of what _anonymously_ exactly meant Victor Nikiforov.

“Wow.” Phichit said, quietly, not wanting to ruin the moment.

Chris fall back to his chair with tired face.

“I’m not hooking you up with your crushes anymore.” He murmured.

Yuuri felt his face turning red again and he couldn’t decide if it was because of the fact that he indirectly admitted he watched Chris’ videos or the suggestion that Victor had crush on him, said aloud. The singer wasn’t helping him to calm down either.

Victor, still unaware that he just revealed one of his biggest secrets, put a spoonful of crumble into his mouth and with delight licked some ice cream from his mouth.

Yuuri couldn’t resist watching, weirdly aware the sight was going to haunt him in his dreams forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This awkward feeling when you're supposed to stay sweet innocent candy and your soft porn friend have to take care of that (and you both kind of fail lol)
> 
> Writing this is an act of self-indulgence and I have a least as much fun as Phichit rn


	20. Jiff

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is completely irrelevant information that has nothing to do with this particular chapter, but I’m writing watching Ratatouille so in an in-existent spin-off of the series in a parallel universe at some point Phichit would totally break into the restaurant accompanied by an army of hamsters to cause a disaster.

Steady swaying of the car and warmness of the body pressed to him felt soporific while Yuuri was hopelessly trying to focus on the route and memorise it. Unfortunately for him, they left the part of city he was recognising and continued to suburbs, so looking outside Yuuri could only count the streetlights and squint in hope to see the shapes of unknown buildings hidden in the thick creamy darkness.

Resigned, he sighed and turned his head, meeting eyes with Phichit, who was sitting diagonally in the front passenger seat. The Thai smiled and rose his eyebrows knowingly so Yuuri looked away, irritated for a change.

On his side, sandwiched between him and Chris, was sitting Victor. Very drunk Victor, to be precise, which must have been the reason why he put his hand on Yuuri’s knee, making him shudder, only to slip it between his waist and the back seat, leaning head on Yuuri’s shoulder with a content smile. Victor’s breath smelled like alcohol, sugar, apples and coffee.

When they’d packed the Russian into the cab Chris didn’t say anything but giving the driver an address. Yuuri and Phichit didn’t talk either. The driver, probably used to worn out night passengers, didn’t try to bother them with conversation, navigating through the city in silence disturbed only by the radio buzz.

“ _Weee… …skies…_ ” Victor murmured and Yuuri felt a few hairs tickling his neck. “ _The black night sighs…_ ” Victor’s voice was the softest whisper and Yuuri was convinced that he was the only one in the car who could make the words out. “ _Falls down in tears… Light of the night…_ ” Out of all the possibilities in Yuuri’s head that drunk Victor Nikiforov could be unconsciously humming, Black Sabbath’s old slow song didn’t even make it the list. More, Yuuri didn’t think Victor, _that_ Victor, would as much as _consider_ listening to it. “ _While down below the trees…_ ”

Despite the coffee he’d had before leaving the restaurant Yuuri was growing sleepy, lulled by the swaying and Victor’s silent voice, when suddenly a program in the car radio ended and a familiar tunes played. An irrational idea appeared in his head when his heart started beating faster, that Victor would know now, _know everything_ , because it was his song and, somehow, pressed to Yuuri, he must have gotten the idea.

Instead of that, Victor rose his head, causing in Yuuri an unfounded feeling of loss, and started singing his own lyrics. Drunk, he was singing out of tune, not reaching the high parts and messing the pace, but Yuuri was listening in silent awe convinced that this, out of all things that had happened that week, was going to ghost him at nights. The clear, trained voice from the radio intertwined with enthusiastic singing, English words, so smooth in records, heavily tinted with Russian accent and occasional giggles when Victor couldn’t remind himself parts of the lyrics.

It was indulgence, and a torture, and Yuuri didn’t deserve any of them. Or maybe he did, the letter one, actually…

He didn’t settle the dispute because by the time they eventually stopped Victor’s head was back on his shoulder and the Russian was breathing deeply in his sleep, disabling Yuuri from making any rational reasoning or even breathing too deeply, not to wake the older man up. He was just sitting there, stiff and cautious not to move, and trying to fool himself that he wasn’t, not in slightest, enjoying the moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here you got a short and slow chapter, a longer and loaded with drama chapter ready to post tomorrow :3 Kind of nevermind I had an initial chapter word count limit that no one cares about, but at least this and the next one combined are definitely under 2k, hah!
> 
> Black Sabbath _[Planet Caravan](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Vu9eQmGc1SY)_


	21. Reasons

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Technically it's still Monday XD (it won't be much longer if I won't stop making random edits every two minutes lol)
> 
> *the window opens and Romeo calls his Julie... I mean Yuuri* Nah, that's not exactly that story (and I shouldn't have a cup of coffee at 10pm, that's for sure)

Yuuri had an impression that they stopped in the middle of nowhere, a few buildings scattered far away from each other and vast empty spaces making the sky meet the earth relatively low. Light pollution was low there too, letting stars shine above the area.

Chris left the car first and asked the driver to wait. With Yuuri they got Victor between them and walked him to the closest building, opening the front gate with a key that after a few trials Victor found in one of his pockets.

To give him a credit, despite his state Victor was perfectly capable of walking on his own and eager to cooperate, which wonders ended the moment he realised he was supposed to be disposed here and none of his dinner companion was coming in with him.

Before Victor reminded himself which key was opening the front door someone opened it from inside.

“Chris, hi. What happened?” A red hair woman that Yuuri had to pretend he didn’t know asked in the door, looking rather amused than worried.

“Just a night out, you know us.” Chris smiled and shrugged. “Can I leave him to you from now?”

“Absolutely.” Mila Babicheva smiled, in a way indicating that rather than making sure Victor would shower and go to bed she was going to let him fall asleep on a coach and draw dicks on his forehead to photograph it.

“You should come in too!” Victor whined, looking after them already halfway back to the taxi. “Yuuri!”

“Come on, Yuri’s here, silly.” Yuuri could hear when Mila closed the door behind them.

He wanted to go back into the car when Chris put a hand on his shoulder to stop him.

“Before we go” he said “we need to clarify a few things. Phichit?”

Phichit put his phone to a pocked and walked to them.

“Yep?”

“Great. I just don’t want to discuss it twice.” Chris said, looked at Yuuri and pointed a finger on him. “You. You’re the earphone guy.” He said.

Yuuri gulped. It wasn’t a question.

“What?” He said, pretending surprise rather badly.

Chris rolled his eyes.

“Let’s act like adults, no? Victor is an idiot. He run into you in the train, stole your earphone because you were listening to his shame song while he expected you to have some shady death metal there, which shocked him so much that when he came over to my place, like he was supposed to that evening, you had already overheated his system to the point he didn’t sleep all night, not that he cared to mention why, and in the morning dragged me to your station to sit there like an idiot for a few hours hoping you’d appear. He actually suggested sleeping there in a tent.” Chris squeezed the bridge of his nose as if it was too much. “So after that I made the post on his Instagram.”

Yuuri shuddered. Ironically, Victor’s method would have potentially higher chance of succeeding, but he didn’t say anything.

“But you didn’t respond to that. Thousands of people responded but somehow Victor knew none of them was you. I mean… Nevermind. And then he texts me that he met the earphone guy again in front of a restaurant and he run away… And then there’s you kinda looking the same AND living with Phichit so clearly your station and the station the guy run away match, and don’t ask me how I know that because let me remind you I know Phichit from the gym, which is because we live relatively close to each other so that’s why Victor was in the train that evening in the first place. So really, please, really, stop acting childish, just go there and tell him before he’ll do something really stupid.”

Yuuri opened his mouth to say something, but looking between Chris’ and Phichit’s faces he realised there was no point denying. Here he was, exposed in front of an internet stripper and his flatmate, standing between house where Victor Nikiforov, main cause of the whole affair, was currently living, and a taxi where till now the driver must have been growing impatient. Or satisfied with the multiplying bill.

He cleared his throat.

“He’s going to leave the city after a while anyway, isn’t he?”

“And?” Chris asked.

“He’ll forget.” Yuuri said, wishing for that rather than actually believing this would happen. Not after Victor, consciously or not, had been stalking him for almost a week.

“He wanted to sleep on your metro station in a TENT!” Chris hissed.

Yuuri snorted. Heh, at least it wasn’t him peaking in hysteria!

“He _did_ sleep in a tent when a hotel didn’t let his dog in.” He pointed, realising a second too late that maybe it was too much to say out loud.

“How do you know that?” Chris asked and tilted his head, which thanks to his huge round glasses made him look like a giant, suspicious owl.

“I… That is…” Yuuri stuttered but wasn’t given the possibility to say anything.

A window in the house behind them opened and Victor’s head picked out, his hair in mess looked like a halo from the lighting inside.

“Yuuuuriiii! Don’t go!” His stage-trained voice sounded even louder in the silence around. “Yuuuu…” He didn’t finish because a pair of hands pulled him back in and the window was shut.

Chris looked like he regretted ever getting involved in the affair.

“Nevermind it. I don’t want to discuss it when the driver can hear us, so let’s make it quick, no? Let Vitya sober up till, let’s say, the day after tomorrow, and tell him it was you all the time before he gets completely senseless, like writing you a song and whine till eternity…”

“He wouldn’t do _that_.” Yuuri protested.

“May I remind you _tents_?”

“That’s fair.” Yuuri rose his hands in a gesture of giving up.

“Or before he again disappears in woods for months because of being a sad heartbroken loser.”

“Oh, I remember that.” Phichit said and nodded, as if he was recalling an actual memory.

“You… remember?” Chris asked.

“Yeah! Yuuri was…”

“Phichit!” Yuuri hissed clenching teeth.

“…not concerned at all?” The Thai ended, looking at Yuuri apologetically.

“If it wasn’t for you actively avoiding him, I’d thought you’re some kind of psycho fan Victor was warning before…”

“NO!” Yuuri said the same moment Phichit exclaimed “Not _me_.”

“Aaah.”

“Phichit DON’T!”

Chris was producing monosyllables, squinting at them, putting his glasses higher up, and squinting more, while Yuuri pressed his hand to Phichit’s mouth in hope his friend will get the oh-so-subtle allusion.

“I don’t get it.” Chris said eventually.

“Me neither.” Yuuri said, making another step towards the taxi.

“You like him.” The Swiss continued.

Yuuri didn’t say anything.

“So why are you running away?”

“That’s what I said!” Phichit exclaimed.

“I…” He what? What was his point again? Now that Yuuri was thinking about it, there wasn’t much sense in his actions, there wasn’t sense at all. He kept hiding and running away from the only person he truly admired… For what? Maintaining a façade of an untainted piece of grunge aesthetics trash in front of… whom? The kids he was teaching? His instructors back in the conservatory? His school friends he haven’t seen for years? If anything, probably his sister, who was living overseas and didn’t have access to Yuuri’s privacy anymore.

 _“I don’t know.”_ He should have said. But all that left his mouth was “I have my reasons.”

“They must be hella good if you want to convince me not to run to Victor here and now and tell him that I figured you out.” Chris crossed his hands.

At that, Yuuri smiled. They didn’t have to.

“Oh that’s bad. Unless you have some just as convincing reasons for me not to spit out about your little secret collaborations via someone’s tiny insignificant Instagram account.”

Phichit chuckled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tents! Have you ever slept in a tent? I did only for one night and it was awful ~~because I forgot to bring my sleeping mat and I bet singer!Victor would too~~ D:
> 
> *uses word "rather" an indecent amount of times as for one short chapter* I have no self-control
> 
> I feel like this chapter is so much better in my head, where especially Chris' monologue is very emotional, and annoyed, and with constant changes in intonation that I can't quite point all in the text without making it pain to read D: (Like when you read king Shakes ~~peare~~ and it's all flat but then see the play and oh. OH.) Sorry, if you actually read notes you have to forgive me my babble.
> 
> Please hold your thumbs for me to type the next 2-3 chapters tomorrow, cause I've got them figured out ready in my head but somehow didn't have time to sit in front of computer earlier today ~~because i was rotting in bath for an hour~~ and either I write it down quickly or lose it ^^"
> 
> edit #3495678 even ao3 is messing with me tonight so let's have fun and experiment a lil bit with dates *munches one* ~~I shouldn't be updating tonight at all, should I?~~


	22. Dalgona

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'll tell you a story how I had too much booze  
> and made it to the first page of the local news

„You’re pathetic.” Yura said when the sound of a newspaper slapping the kitchen counter shuttered Victor’s brain into pieces.

He didn’t respond immediately, taking his time to search the fridge for whatever liquid he could find.

“Why this time?” He asked, voice dry and silent. He sat by the dining table, only then noticing Yakov judging him from above his iPad. Victor was so used to that look he couldn’t care less.

“Because…” Yura said, his tone indicating that Victor knew exactly what because.

“As if you never got drunk yourself.” Victor murmured and sucked to a carton of orange juice until it was completely empty.

“Victor, he’s sixteen.” was the first thing Yakov said since Victor had left his bedroom.

He put the carton back on the table, grabbed a bottle of milk and, after rethinking the decision, put it back on the table and poured himself a glass of water.

“You’ve got a point.” He admitted reluctantly, poured himself a cup of coffee to the same water glass and sat back next to Yakov.

“That’s not what I’m talking about.” Yura snorted, still talking way too loudly for Victor’s liking, and put a plate of fried eggs and sausage tactlessly close to Victor’s face. He dug into the eggs, offering none to Victor, who glanced at the stove only to see the frying pan scrubbed clean.

Victor did _not_ whine.

“I’m talking about _that_.” Yura hissed, grabbing the newspaper from the counter and putting it in front of him.

Yakov sighed.

It was a local daily paper, which Victor knew because yesterday in the very same paper was a photo of them and Leroys in front of the (un)fortunate restaurant. Which was normal, to be expected, welcome even. But today, not at the side of the first page but in its very middle, was Victor grinning to smitten-looking Yuuri from above a pie. On another, smaller photo, Victor had a straw in his mouth and Yuuri was leaning and saying something to his Thai friend. The photos were taken from one place, showing only Chris’ back, thanks God. The title _Nikiforov’s new favourite spot or…?_ didn’t bother him.

“So what?” Victor asked. Tabloids and alike writing about him and printing his photos were such a big part of his life he stopped carrying at some point. It was Yakov’s problem, not his.

“You missed the part where they insinuate that you’re a couple…” Yura growled, systematically shoving food into his mouth, as if he was aware of Victor’s hungry eyes set on his plate. “…with the third rate pianist who moonlights to the dinner when he doesn’t teach some sort of kung-fu in kindergarten, heh?”

“I’m… he does… what?”

Yakov opened the newspaper somewhere in the middle and put it back in front of Victor, who now had a good view on a collage of photos, those that were unmistakeably taken yesterday complemented by some of Victor’s old pictures from concerts and one of Yuuri sitting by the restaurant piano in a navy blue suit, his hair slicked back, and looking, if anyone cared to know Victor’s opinion, eternal. And by that was a photo of Victor from a few years ago, when he was actively refusing to acknowledge that orange and purple chequered did no good to his complexion. Just great.

“Yaaa… kooov…” Victor whined. “How could the use this old photo?!”

“Is that all that bothers you?”

“Well they put it right next to Yuuri…” Victor gasped. “Yuuri!”

“I’m so sorry!” Victor yelped to the phone.

Yuuri’s voice on the other side was silent.

“It’s fine.” He said.

* * *

It wasn’t fine.

It was the farthest from fine a thing could be. Absolutely outrageous. On the scale from Phichit volunteering to make a dinner to meeting Victor Nikiforov in person it was… Holly shit. It was _exactly_ that. Meeting Victor Nikiforov in person, dinning out with him and ending up in a local newspaper.

Yuuri fell heavily back onto his bed, deciding to never leave his bedroom again, when the door opened and a local storm made of Phichit holding visibly used mixer in one hand and phone in another came in. Something about Phichit’s eyes googled at him told Yuuri exactly what was the matter.

“No way!” Phichit yelled, pressing his phone in from of Yuuri’s eyes, as if he didn’t see it himself.

“Kill me Phich.”

“You have to tell him.”

Yuuri was silent.

“You have to, Yuuri!”

“What?” Yuuri got up and stared and the Thai. “Call him and say: _Hi Victor, I’m the black converse nonsense guy your closet fanboy you were looking for, and by the way it’s me, Yuuri form the restaurant, which you probably already know because you’ve got my number saved?_ Are you nuts?”

“Nah? I’m the only reasonable person here.”

Yuuri stared at the mixer in his hand and back at Phichit, head tilted.

“Fiiiiine. The _most_ reasonable. Happy?”

“Between you and me? Impressive.”

“Between, you, me, your celebrity crush ass and my gym dude.”

Yuuri looked at him sceptically.

“And don’t even try to deny that, I’m the only one of us who has nothing to hide. I always knew there was something suspicious about your social media reluctance and here we are.”

“You’re raving, Phich.”

“Nope. If all three of you haven’t been hiding something you wouldn’t ended up in the situation in the first place.”

Yuuri moaned and hid his face behind a pillow.

“Nevermind. Up-up, Yuuri. I made something special today.” Cheer in Phichit’s voice was sinister.

Yuuri shook his head.

“Oh come on. I made you coffee.”

Yuuri put the pillow away and sniffed.

“I can’t feel anything.” He said.

“Because it’s special.”

A few minutes later Yuuri was presented with a failed attempt to the latest TikTok trend, whipped coffee, which Yuuri, hoping this at least that Phichit couldn’t fuck up, tasted and regretted deeply a second later, when Phichit was saying words like instant, sugar and shitload of milk. Yuuri inspected the “drink” again and thought that it was as bad as his situation. Overloaded with too much luck for one person, way too much sugar, and mixed so poorly the ingredients wouldn’t go with each other no matter what.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long time no see I guess?
> 
> TIL (while updating this fic) that the name "dalgona coffee" comes from Korean for "it's sweet", which explains a lot and why didn't I know that half a year ago when I nailed the recipe and it was disgusting for I hate sweet drinks. Anyway, I've heard many people having problems with preparing the drink so it's perfect for bt&c!Phichit :p


	23. Jogging

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've finally reread all the chapters and edited an indecent amount of typos D:

Yura was getting tired of this shit. At times he felt like a background character in a soap opera that was Victor’s life. Let’s take today, not to look too far away. Technically, Yakov came that morning to pick him up to the record studio, which alone was enough to irritate him because he had to deal with Jean-Jacque’s stupid face for the second day in a row. And if Yura had to choose between JJ and Victor as his only companion to spend a week on an inhabited island he’d choose Victor every single time. That alone should say enough what kind of pain in the ass JJ was.

So yeah, Yakov came to pick him up, _him_ , god dammit, but no! Of course not. The first thing he was talking about from the door, the first person he even mentioned or called, must have been fucking Victor. For a short moment Yura thought that maybe he was saved from dealing with Canadians almost on his own and Victor would join them earlier, but no. Not in Yura’s life, which was a comedy of errors.

Yakov passed him in the door, turned on the coffee machine and, sitting by the kitchen table, opened his suitcase.

Yura sight.

“Want some breakfast?” He asked, like a kind adult he was.

Yakov didn’t answer and took out a newspaper.

“Hey, breakfast?!” Yura yelled this time.

Yakov shook his head.

“Who eats breakfast this late?” He murmured. “Victor has bad influence on you.”

Yura gritted his teeth. Fine, from now on he wasn’t sharing his food with anyone.

Half an hour later he was sitting in a cab next to Yakov and gritting teeth even more. Not only Victor had to act like an attention slut that he was, but also, thanks to that pathetic asshole, Yura was constantly ignored. Yakov spent the ride calling different people and places and only paid attention to him when they were leaving the car and the old man dared to make a comment that Yura should behave in from of the Canadians. As if he wasn’t the only person who behaved within miles!

A few hours later Yakov dropped him by the house and called it a day. Fantastic. JJ’s constant presence drained him out of energy and all he was dreaming about was getting food and finding something silly to watch on the huge TV in the living room.

So of course when he opened the door Victor has already been there, lying on the sofa, with the TV on a stupid movie. In French, so that Yura couldn’t understand shit. Just great.

“Hi there! How was it?” Victor cried for the sofa when Yura passed him to see that he wasn’t even watching the movie but having eyes glued to his phone.

“Is there anything to eat?” He asked in response, eyeing a dirty plate on the coffee table.

“Nope.”

Yura wondered if he imagined that or there was actually malice in Victor’s stupid eyes. Then he remembered how he overstuffed his stomach with scrambled eggs in the morning just not to share them, out of spite. Fuck. Why didn’t Yakov order them catering or something?

“I’m going out to run.” He hissed to Victor and went to change. He really, really needed to calm the fuck down, because all of them were so annoying he couldn’t stand them anymore.

In the corridor Victor was waiting for him wearing all shades of pastels workout outfit that made him look like an overgrown cotton candy.

“What do you…”

“I’m going with you!” Victor said and smiled ingratiatingly, as if he didn’t just purposefully left him with no food.

“I’m going alone.” Yura hissed, put his phone and earphones on a table and leaned to tie his shoes.

“You won’t notice I’m there.” Victor gave him the smile he was usually giving to his fans and Yura wanted to puke.

“Fine, but don’t say a word, and don’t fucking outpace me.” He had no power to argue.

Victor nodded and made a gesture of zipping his mouth.

Yura rolled his eyes. He grabbed his phone and the earphones box, Victor did the same and they shut the door.

In the run, he put on the earphones, annoyed that by his side Victor was doing exactly the same, even thought there was nothing weird about it, and got his phone out to turn on the running playlist. He pressed the play button and glanced at Victor, who squeaked by his side, squinting to the phone, probably because the loser pianist didn’t text him back.

Yura turned the volume up and put the phone back to his pocket. After a few seconds he tapped his watch to change the song because he didn’t like it. He tapped two more times.

At his side Victor did exactly the same giggling like a stupid monkey.

Yura hissed and skipped another song. Did he really add it to the playlist?

“Yuriii…” Victor’s annoying voice.

“You said you’d be quiet.” Yura hissed and skipped a song.

“Yuuriiii…”

“I told you to…”

“Yuri!” Victor grabbed his arm to stop him.

“What is it? I told you to…” As if the shuffle refusing to give him what he actually wanted wasn’t enough of a pain!

“I think we swapped our earphones.” Victor said, visibly fighting with a grin.

“…be quie… We… WHAT?”

“You know, I don’t usually work out to my own music.”

Oh NO.

“Actually, I never do.” Victor ended making a terrible knowing face.

Petrified, Yura took out his phone and looked at the screen. Victor’s song. And definitely not whatever hash was trickling to his ears. He didn’t know how his face looked like but probably bad, because Victor couldn’t contain laughter anymore and burst out, leaning on his knees, as if he just heard the best joke.

Yura couldn’t stand being there. He took Victor’s headphones out of his ears and throw them at the pastel laughing mess. He left Victor there and speeded up to the sunset, not sure if he would ever be able to look at the singer again. Not without recalling the disgusting mocking smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aka: Episode XXIII - The Earphones Strike Back
> 
> Yura's attitude will come in handy ;)
> 
> (I'm not sure how it turned out but the obstacle was to make Yura annoyed, but slightly less annoyed then in the other chapter with his POV when he was drenched in coffee ^^)


End file.
